Turning the Hourglass
by Acephalous
Summary: To get even with Hermione in their seventh year, Malfoy sends her back in time 20 years. There, Hermione must come to terms with her situation as she meets familiar faces, while Lupin struggles in the present to undo the magic Malfoy has inflicted.
1. Revenge

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!"

-Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream

* * *

Dark clouds rolled and billowed over the heads of the teachers and students eating an early morning breakfast in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Thunder rumbled occasionally, ominously threatening rain. Up at the Head Table, the mood wasn't much better. A few of the younger teachers ate their food casually, chatting amongst themselves. Many of the others who were old enough to remember ate silently, sporadically casting glances at the Gryffindor table.

Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore exchanged glances every few minutes, constantly keeping one eye on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Remus Lupin sat at his untouched plate, his shoulders limp. It was fairly obvious that he'd slept very little, if at all, the night before. He stared into the eggs which had long since turned cold, his expression unreadable. It had been nearly twenty years, and he'd have to see it happen today. April 17, 1997 was a date he'd been dreading for a very long time.

At long last, the students and teachers alike filtered out of the Great Hall, on their way to first period. Remus stood slowly, sliding his chair in. He glanced at the wall clock. If he remembered correctly, it would happen in roughly eight hours. A nerve in his stomach twinged uncomfortably.

"Remus?"

He looked up to find the headmaster standing over him, concern written across his face.

"Professor Dumbledore." He forced a small smile. "Have a good breakfast?"

"Remus, I have the feeling that if my breakfast had consisted of nothing but cockroach clusters it still would have been better than yours. I would like to talk to you alone." Dumbledore looked at him gravely through his half-moon glasses.

"I would love to sir, but unfortunately I have a class waiting." Remus said apologetically, brushing off his robes. "Another time, perhaps? If you'll excuse me—"

"Ariel Sinistra is covering for you." Dumbledore interjected. "This will only take a moment or two."

Remus sighed heavily and nodded. "Very well."

"Come, we'll go to my office." The headmaster smiled kindly.

"Butterscotch?" Dumbledore held out a small tin of candy once they had taken their respective seats in his office.

"Er… alright." Remus accepted one politely. "What did you want to see me about, professor?"

"Oh, I think you know." He leaned back in his chair and formed a steeple with his fingertips. "Big day ahead."

Remus snorted. "That's one way to put it."

"How are you?" the older man asked.

"I don't know." Remus answered truthfully. "I… don't know what to think. Um… I'm not looking forward to today, if that's what you mean."

"Understandable." Dumbledore nodded. After a moment he added: "What do you plan to do?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "W-what do I plan to do, sir? I'm not quite sure what you mean. I quite honestly don't know that one, either."

"You aren't going to try and stop it?" the headmaster raised his chin.

"I've thought about it, I suppose." He answered. "But that gets into the whole chicken-and-the-egg type scenario. I don't know if I _could_ stop it if I tried."

"I think you're right on that, Remus." Dumbledore replied. "It'll be difficult, but you'll have to just wait until it happens."

"I know." Remus replied softly, staring at one of the many gyroscopes on the headmaster's desk. "Lord, I sometimes I wish _I_ could go back to knock some sense into myself." He shook his head.

"Don't blame yourself." Dumbledore chided. "There was no way of knowing at the time, and… well, you have to admit, it looked like the situation you had was working quite well while it lasted." He smiled wryly.

"Professor, what are you saying?" Remus rubbed one of his temples tiredly.

"Well… the school year ends in two months." He answered, folding his hands. "I won't say anything more than that."

"That's not- I- Headmaster, I don't even know what to say to that." Remus shook his head and sighed. "Is this why you signed me on again this year? Is this why you wanted me to come back so much?"

"Besides the fact that you're the best Defense teacher this school has had since you attended as a student? Yes, Remus. There's no sense in running away from your past, present, or possible future."

"I… have to get to class." He stood abruptly. "Thank you for the candy."

"You're a Gryffindor, Remus." Dumbledore said as the younger man turned to the door. "There are all different sorts of bravery."

Remus gave Dumbledore one last glance before exiting. He shut the door softly behind him.

The school day flew by a bit too quickly for Remus' tastes. He threw himself into teaching, forcing pages of notes onto the students. In the very back of his mind a countdown that had started twenty years ago was quickly winding down to zero. Struggling to ignore the clock, he lectured about Boggarts and Redcaps, Dementors and Lucksuckers. His usual style of teaching was a bit more enthusiastic, more hands-on, but Remus just didn't have the energy that day.

All too soon, fifth period rolled around: seventh years. Remus took a long drink of water from the glass on his desk as the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws filed in and assumed their seats. He'd forced himself to be comfortable teaching her up until now. Today wasn't the day.

"Alright, class. Today we'll be taking notes on a new unit, so if you would please pull out your notebook - and pass your homework to the front of each row, and Ron, if you would collect them and put them on my desk." Turning his back, Remus began scribbling the day's lesson on the chalkboard in front of the room.

"We're going to skip around in the textbook a bit for this chapter, I've decided to cover dark creatures of the forest in one unit, not scattered, as the book has it."

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione's soft voice asked his turned back.

Remus' chalk paused in the middle of its word, and he took a deep breath. "Y-yes, Hermione?"

"I was just wondering if you'd give us the chapters and sections of each creature we're going over." she asked. "I know the Grues are Chapter 17, section 3, but—"

"Though I was planning to give them to you as I covered them, I'll write the figures out on the homework board." He interrupted her, his back still turned. He continued to write out the notes. "Anything else?"

"Why… no." Hermione answered, puzzled at her favorite teacher's unusual shortness.

Remus continued with his lesson, explaining the numerous notes with little enthusiasm. He was never this testy with his students, but his nerves were considerably on edge today, and it would probably get worse as the day went on. He tried to remind himself that this would probably be the last time he would interact with her on a normal capacity, but today he felt that he just couldn't. Tonight would be painful, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Sighing heavily, Remus finished the notes on the board and turned to start the day's lecture.

Hermione cracked her neck slowly as the bell ending school for the day rang shrilly at three o'clock sharp. It had been a fairly challenging day, and Arithmancy was always a good way to end it.

Hermione glanced at her heavy backpack, filled with homework that was begging to be done. Ron and Harry had Quidditch practice, so Hermione figured the library would be a good finish to the afternoon. If she finished with her homework and studying, she might even have time to read more about the complex spell reversal charms she had been lightly reading for the past couple days.

Hefting her weighty bag onto her shoulders, Hermione bid Professor Vector a warm farewell and made her way to the Hogwarts library. Fleetingly, she hoped that she didn't have a run-in with Malfoy – the boy was more into the Dark Arts as he ever had been, and some strange and disturbing things had been happening sporadically around the castle that were commonly attributed to his him, though no one was able to prove it. Entire wings of the castle would go dark for no apparent reason, showers in the Gryffindor bathrooms once ran red with blood, but changed back to water before the incident could be properly reported, and Parvati Patil had once sworn that she had seen a shadowy apparition of Malfoy in their bedroom as she was changing. Hermione herself had gotten her share of hazing from Malfoy; more than once he had cursed her in passing, either stunning her, making her backpack fifty pounds heavier, or causing her to lurch forward into a wall. There was little any of them could do about Malfoy but to wait the school year out and go after him afterwards; it was common knowledge that he would become a Death Eater on his eighteenth birthday.

As Hermione turned a corridor, she saw Professor Lupin heading towards his office. She was about to hail him, but he was walking swiftly with his head down, hands in his pockets. Without looking up at her, he quickly ducked into his office and closed the door behind him.

Shrugging inwardly, Hermione continued walking. It wasn't close to the full moon at all, but she had the feeling that whatever was wrong with Professor Lupin had nothing to due with the lunar cycle.

Hermione stopped in her tracks as Draco Malfoy suddenly turned a corner in front of her, flanked on either side by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, still as large and stupid as ever, but not ones to be trifled with.

"Malfoy." Hermione said coldly, before attempting to step past him. Goyle immediately stepped in her way, his hulking body mass posing a formidable obstacle for the girl.

Hermione flushed slightly. "Excuse me, Goyle, but I need to get past." She knew that this wouldn't work, but at least she could say later that she tried, when they were all in McGonagall's office with bruises and broken arms.

"No, Granger, we have something rather special lined up for you today." Malfoy smiled cruelly. "I've been working on it for weeks."

"Five points from Slytherin." Hermione said as firmly as she could, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Gregory, if you don't move, it will be another fifty."

"You see, Granger, I learned recently that you got an unfair advantage back in third year." Malfoy continued as if she had never spoken. "A time-turner, it seems. You got three more credits than any of us did, and you were even able to use it to have more time to study. Does that sound _fair_ to you, Crabbe?"

Crabbe shook his thick head slowly, his beady eyes staring straight ahead.

"You know, Granger, none of us have a chance at beating your picture-perfect grade average, since you got that unfair advantage over the rest of us. That does not please me. Especially when I was second in line for having the highest grade in our year."

Hermione snorted. "Does that really matter to you now, Malfoy? Seems like you're more interested in Dark Arts these days than your Herbology grade."

"Things have to even out a bit, Granger." Malfoy's eye glinted maliciously. "Maybe even out more than a bit. You got so much extra time in your favor, some needs to be taken away."

Hermione's stomach turned to ice, and her heart skipped a small beat. What was he talking about? Whatever it was, she knew he had the power by now to do it. She took an involuntary step backwards.

Malfoy and his bodyguards automatically stepped forward menacingly.

"As I said, Granger, amends must be made. Right here, right now." Malfoy drew from his robes a small hourglass, filled with red sand. "See this, Granger? I got it in a magic shop for two sickles. It's just an ordinary toy, really. Until I do this:" Malfoy, in one swift move, threw the hourglass into the air with a flick of his wrist, and drew his wand with the other hand. As the hourglass peaked and fell downwards, Malfoy flicked his wand, suspending it at eye-level in a haze of red light.

"Impressive, Malfoy." Hermione said, her voice quavering only slightly. "Didn't we learn how to do that in the third week of our first year?"

"Perhaps, Granger, but we certainly didn't learn how to set the clock back, now, did we?" he smiled cruelly. "I was looking through some of Father's old books, stumbled across a most interesting spell. Quite powerful, too. I've been dying to try it out."

"Malfoy—" Hermione started, but he cut her off.

"See, your hourglass traveled in mere hours. Mine? It travels in _years_." His cold eyes glinted as the hourglass gave a slight twitch in midair.

Hermione gasped in horror. He had to be bluffing. He wouldn't really send her flying back in time – would he?

Malfoy, with a malicious smirk, slowly rotated the wrist that held his wand. As soon as he did so, the hourglass began slowly revolving in midair, encapsulated in its reddish aura.

"Round and round and round it goes… when it stops… Granger goes…" Malfoy laughed at his own rhyme as Hermione's eyes grew wide with horror.

Meanwhile, Remus had just begun tuning in to the conversation that was happening a few feet away from his office. He had heard the voices, but as soon as he heard her raised voice say Malfoy's name, his ears were perked.

He could barely hear what Malfoy was saying, but his gut told him that it wasn't good. And that this was more than likely it; what he had feared for so long.

Remus got up from his desk and made his way across the room to the thick wooden door and opened it a crack to listen to the voices in the hallway.

"…and when it stops, Granger goes…" Remus heard Malfoy's sing-song voice, and immediately stepped out into the hall. To his horror, he saw over Malfoy's back the swiftly revolving hourglass, which was steadily picking up speed. Beyond it, Hermione's face, swathed in the red glow of the hourglass, was masked in horror. Malfoy laughed at her reaction as the hourglass kept turning, over and over and over.

Remus, after what seemed like ages, finally snapped to.

"NO!" He dashed forward and grabbed Malfoy's shoulder, whirling the boy around. In the instant he broke the Slytherin's concentration, the red aura around the hourglass disappeared, and it crashed to the floor with a small tinkle of broken glass. Remus and Malfoy both turned their heads immediately to look at the broken hourglass, its red sands seeping into the cracks of the cold stone floor.

Remus' eyes traveled forward in horror, searching for Hermione. She was gone.


	2. Don't Lose Your Head

Fear is implanted in us as a preservation from evil; but its duty, like that of other passions, is not to overbear reason, but to assist it.—It should not be suffered to tyrannize in the imagination, to raise phantoms of horror, or to beset life with supernumerary distresses.

—Johnson

* * *

As soon as Hermione's head quit spinning (it had never been this bad with her old Time Turner), she opened her eyes to examine her present surroundings.

For a brief moment, Hermione vaguely wondered if anything had happened at all – the hallway she was dumbly standing in looked exactly the same as it had just moments ago.

But she was alone. With a cold stab of fear, Hermione realized that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all gone. Recalling the last few moments before she had been ripped from her reality, the present, she remembered a vague shout, someone tall pulling Malfoy away. Hermione had no doubt that it was Professor Lupin. She was grateful that he had stopped Malfoy when he did – who knew how long he would have let the hourglass spin?

But how far into the past _was_ she?

_Maybe,_ she thought hopefully_, it was a regular Time Turner, that worked in hours, not years._ She hoped he had been bluffing, that it was in fact four o'clock in the morning of that very same day. She could survive that.

However, looking around into the hallway, Hermione could sense that something was different. The air didn't quite smell the same, and the lighting was a touch dimmer than it had been just minutes ago. The floor, it was almost imperceptibly cleaner, just a bit less worn.

Struggling not to let the panic rise out of her stomach, Hermione carefully took a few tentative steps down the hallway, careful not to make much noise. One of the good things about Hogwarts was the fact that it was so incredibly large that only a few hallways were bustling in the hour after school let out.

Breathing steadily, Hermione thought of what her next course of action should be. She looked around the hallway desperately; the mind game was becoming torturous. She could be ten hours back, or five hundred, even seven hundred years. Perhaps more.

There was a bathroom at the end of the hall. Taking a deep, steady breath, Hermione swiftly made her way down the hall, keeping a careful ear out for anyone approaching and hoping the bathroom was still there. She was in a bad spot, she could feel it in her gut. A ball in the pit of her stomach was knotting up, her intestines starting to writhe, but Hermione forced herself to stay calm for the time being. She would panic later.

Hermione let her breath out when she reached the familiar heavy wooden door that led to the girl's bathroom. Throwing her weight against the thick oak door, she quickly entered the lavatory.

With a touch of nostalgia, Hermione remembered that this was the bathroom she had been in over six years ago, where Harry and Ron had fought and defeated a mountain troll.

Struggling not to let the same feeling of hopelessness creep into her chest, Hermione entered a stall and clicked the lock on the door shut. Bending down, she looked under the stall dividers for feet. Sure enough, there were a pair of professional-looking black pumps two stalls down. The toilet suddenly flushed in this stall, giving Hermione a small start. A moment or so later, the heels exited the stall and clicked their way to the sinks.

As the woman exited the stalls, Hermione put her eye to the small crack beside the small door to get a better glimpse at whoever was in the bathroom with her. If she could see them, what they were wearing, their hairstyle, _anything_, she could maybe guess her approximate time period.

Hermione peered at the woman through the half-inch gap below the stall hinge. She had a wan complexion, seemed to be around middle age, with jet black hair with slight graying around the temples pulled back into a strict bun, and she sported square monocles on her face—

Hermione's jaw dropped. It was Professor McGonagall. She had to restrain herself from actually following McGonagall to the sinks, but it was her, she was sure of it. McGonagall's face wasn't one you could easily miss. As she heard the sound of water rushing into a nearby sink, Hermione exhaled and leaned against the stall divider. McGonagall's hair was still mostly black… that meant she had definitely been sent back quite a few years.

Mentally swearing, Hermione tried to keep her calm and forced herself to reason. McGonagall's hair, though still quite dark, had been streaked gray when Hermione had first arrived at Hogwarts. For her hair to have only begun to gray… Hermione guessed it would have to be somewhere between 1960 and 1985. That was still a large gap.

Hermione racked her brain, still unsure of what to do next. She wouldn't be able to hide in a bathroom stall for the next thirty years. As it stood, there was no one who knew her. She hadn't even been born yet. If she were to disappear, right there and then, no one would ever know, no one would care.

Feeling utterly alone, Hermione crumpled to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

Remus' stomach churned, staring at the spot where Hermione had stood mere seconds ago. She had just disappeared. One minute she was there, transfixed at the swirling hourglass; the next, gone.

Coming to his senses again, he turned to Malfoy, struggling to suppress his growing rage. Everything in him told Remus to hex the boy to kingdom come, to show him the true meaning of pain, to wipe that smug smirk off his face once and for all, but he resisted.

"My office." Was all he managed to say, in a deadly whisper. "Now."

"No." Malfoy snorted, appalled that a professor would have the gall to order him around. "And I'd _like_ to see you try and make me."

"Draco, I'm not asking you, I'm _telling _you to put your wand away and the three of you enter my office right this moment. I will make you if I have to." It was obvious that Remus was fighting to maintain his composed, placid demeanor. However, his hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white.

"You think you could beat me in a duel?" Malfoy challenged, crossing his arms.

"There will be no dueling today, Draco." Remus replied calmly. "You have broken around thirty international wizarding laws just now, enough to land you a fifty-year sentence in Azkaban. Give me your wand."

"You're funny." Malfoy smirked. "Do all werewolves have your sense of humor?"

Remus shook his head. "Expelliarmus." He said the spell simply, without even raising his wand.

Instantly, three wands flew to Remus, who caught them deftly with his left hand and pocketed them. Angrily, the boys lunged after their wands, but Remus took a step back, brandishing his own.

"Don't even think about it, boys. The lot of you are in a heap of trouble." Remus frowned and quickly pointed his wand at Malfoy. "Inertio."

Malfoy cried out angrily as a glowing blue ring appeared, binding his wrists together behind his back.

"Hey! You can't do this!" Malfoy fumed, furious that he had been captured with almost graceful nonchalance. "Give me back my wand! You'll pay, Lupin!"

"Will I, now?" Remus asked mildly. He turned to Malfoy's companions. "Will you boys come willingly?"

Crabbe and Goyle cast nervous glances at each other.

"He's going to Azkaban, if it helps." Remus shrugged. "If you come willingly, you might even be exonerated of some charges."

Though it was obvious neither boy knew what 'exonerated' meant, they could sense in their professor's voice that they were being offered a good deal. Exchanging another glance, they both looked at him and nodded silently.

"Good." Remus nodded. "Off we go, then."

"Like hell!" Malfoy spat, sneering. Suddenly, he made an attempt to bolt down the hallway, but Remus was quicker. He swiftly flicked his wand at Malfoy, who hit the floor before he took two steps. Swishing his wand again, Remus caused Malfoy's writhing body to lift up off the floor and into the air.

"Vincent and Gregory, follow me, please." Remus slowly began walking down the hallway, keeping his wand pointed at Malfoy's floating body as it traveled down the hall.

Never taking his eyes from Malfoy for a moment, Remus quickly turned the doorknob to his office and pushed the door open, then guided Malfoy's body into the room. Trusting that Crabbe and Goyle were still following, Remus eased Malfoy into a chair in front of his desk. With another swish of his wand, the boy was firmly strapped into the seat with thick ropes.

Silently, Remus moved two more chairs to his desk with the aid of his wand, before sitting in his own seat. Crabbe and Goyle still stood at the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Sit." Remus motioned to the two empty chairs. "Please."

Wordlessly, Crabbe and Goyle both headed for the chair farthest from Malfoy. Crabbe got there first, forcing Goyle to sit resignedly next to Malfoy, who was shooting everything in sight death glares, struggling against his binds.

"Give me a moment." Remus took a blank scrap of parchment and quickly began to scratch out a letter to the headmaster. As he signed his loopy signature, he gave a low whistle. An owl, who had been sitting on her perch in the back of the room, flew forward and landed lithely on his desk. Rolling up the parchment and tying it to her outstretched ankle, he said simply "The headmaster."

After the owl flew off out of the room, Remus crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, resting his cool grey eyes on Malfoy. He stared at the boy silently for a few moments before speaking.

"You have no idea what you've just done, do you?" He asked, frowning.

"Granger deserved it." Malfoy replied angrily, meeting Lupin's cool gaze with an icy glare. "If you're expecting me to break down crying and apologize, you're going to be disappointed."

"Oh, I'm expecting no such thing." Remus replied calmly. "Not until you've been in Azkaban for at least a week, surrounded by Dementors. Have you ever been near Dementors, Draco?"

Malfoy said nothing, but his glare deepened.

"They published a report on Azkaban a few years back." Remus said airily. "It took the average inmate… oh, I want to say three months to lose their mind? Though they _were_ quite loony after the second month. There were a few special cases, of course, but from what I remember the report specifically mentioned that Gryffindors in Azkaban were most likely to keep their minds the longest—"

"Why should I listen to you?" Malfoy shouted angrily, cutting him off. "My father told me you're a mudblood. And you're a _werewolf_ to top it off. You're even worse than Granger. You're worthless. The Dark Lord should have killed you when he had the chance."

"That will be enough!" An angry voice called from the back of the room.

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Albus Dumbledore was standing resolutely, Remus' letter in his clenched fist.

* * *

A/N: In her latest web chat, Rowling revealed that Remus is in fact a half-blood. 

Er, speaking of Mrs. Rowling, I suppose I should mention that everything in this story will pretty much belong to her, besides the plot and a few choice characters.

Final thought: I dig reviews.


	3. A Penny for Your Thoughts

"A panic is a sudden desertion of us, and a going over to the enemy of our imagination."

—Bovee

* * *

Hermione curled up tighter into a ball, leaning against the bathroom stall door, sobs wracking her body. Her wet face was covered by trembling white hands, which occasionally wiped away a stream of tears before returning to her flushed cheeks and pale forehead. Her breaths came in quick gasps, which were released in sobbing shudders, each one more painful than the last.

Seeing McGonagall had sealed the girl's fate. She was trapped in a world completely foreign to her, with no means back. Hermione was trapped in the very same castle she had been in not ten minutes ago, yet her reality was now skewed beyond comprehension. As she wept, a thousand panicked questions and thoughts fleeted through her mind.

As it stood, she didn't know where she was in time. And that was all-important, wasn't it? If she had simply been relocated to a different place, that would have been bad, but not nearly this bad. Hermione was on a completely different plane. As it stood, she had no way to get back to her own time, or to find someone that could help her.

Besides, who would believe her? Hermione knew that if a girl she had never seen before distraughtly ran up to her claiming to be from the future, especially during a time that Hermione figured she was in now when trust was a hard thing to come by, she would never believe her for an instant. Her first reaction would be to immobilize the stranger and report them to the proper authorities.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Hermione ran her hands through her thick hair. It was somewhere between the mid-'60's and '80's. Tom Riddle had graduated Hogwarts in 1952, that meant that he was either on the rise, at his full power, or had just recently been defeated. No matter at which point during this progression of events Hermione had entered, security at Hogwarts would be high. Students would likely notice anyone that didn't look familiar; especially if Hermione ran into a fellow Gryffindor or seventh year.

Time Turner spells that had the capability of sending a person back in time more than a year or two hadn't even been revolutionized until the mid-1980's, Hermione remembered with another choking sob. It hadn't been until the early to mid nineties that Ministry officials had become particularly interested in time travel, once the administration had recuperated from Voldemort's tyranny. There was truly no way out of her situation. She was trapped.

Pressing her back against the avocado green wall, Hermione's panicked mind ran fleetingly through a disturbingly short list of possibilities of what to do next. Part of her said that she could simply hide in the bathroom or the Dark Forest for a while, conjuring up her own food and water. Still, that would do nothing to help her get back to her own time. She could try to find someone in the halls and explain her situation, but she would probably be arrested on sight. She could find Madame Pomfrey and pretend she had amnesia and didn't know who she was, but that would no doubt result in an even stickier situation.

Or she could go to Dumbledore. Looking up for a moment, Hermione wiped her puffy red eyes and tried to think clearly. If anyone would be understanding enough to believe her unusual plight, it would be him. He wouldn't know her yet, and have the close relationship they did in the present, but the old wizard always seemed to know when people were being honest and when they weren't. If he didn't help her, no one would.

Her mind partially made up, Hermione wiped her face clean and stood, now pacing the stall to formulate a plan.

"It's happened?" Dumbledore asked, walking the length of the room to Remus' desk.

"Yes, it has." Remus quickly stood, offering Dumbledore his seat. He conjured up a new one beside the desk, turned it to partially face the three boys, and sat.

Dumbledore eased himself into Remus' chair and folded his hands. "Well?" he asked simply.

When none of the boys spoke up, Remus began for them.

"I heard raised voices outside my office about ten minutes after the bell rang." He started. "I tuned them out, but when they failed to stop I stepped out into the hallway to see what was going on. When I arrived, Draco had Hermione in a trance, and was in the process of performing a spell on her that involved an hourglass. I broke his concentration, and when the hourglass fell, Hermione disappeared."

"I see." Dumbledore's blue eyes rested upon Malfoy. "Did Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle come with you willingly?"

"Vincent and Gregory showed no hostility, and cooperated fully." Remus explained. "Draco didn't. I found that it was necessary to bind him."

"I trust your judgement, Remus." Dumbledore nodded. "Mr. Malfoy, is there anything you have to say for yourself?"

Malfoy said nothing; he met Dumbledore's clear blue eyes with a frigid glare, curling his lip into a sneer.

"I'm not sure I can impress on the three of you the gravity of what you have just done." Dumbledore frowned, disappointment etched in his face. "You have not only jeopardized Miss Granger's life, you have risked changing history. Time travel, even in hours, minutes, takes extraordinary skill to manage without severely altering time. Because everything Miss Granger is doing right now already occurred many years ago, I can tell you that your actions have already had severe repercussions."

"Can't be that bad." Malfoy retorted, sneered. "We're all still here, aren't we?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, but Miss Granger isn't." Dumbledore responded sternly. "You don't seem to realize that. You sent an innocent girl back in time, and we have no way of retrieving her—"

"You just said yourself that you know what happened to her, because it's already happened!" Malfoy suddenly shouted at him angrily. "You're a liar, Dumbledore. You already know how this ends and you're just bluffing to try to intimidate me! It won't work! I'm not scared of you."

Malfoy sat back in his seat, glowering at the headmaster.

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands in front of them. He stared at the weary lines before looking up into Malfoy's eyes sadly.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid this is one story I don't know the ending to."


	4. Reality Bites

"We should never so entirely avoid danger as to appear irresolute and cowardly; but at the same time, we should avoid unnecessarily exposing ourselves to danger, than which nothing can be more foolish."

—Cicero

* * *

Hermione paced the cramped bathroom stall, her breath still coming in the short gasps that accompany heavy crying. Her face was still red and puffy, but the brief panic spell had allowed her to expel most of the cluttered, hysterical thoughts that had taken over her conscious mind. Hermione's stomach churned slightly, and her hands were still shaking, but she could at least concentrate on what her next move would be.

She knew her immediate destination was Dumbledore's office, but she still was largely unsure of how she would get there. Hermione groaned, now wishing she had been with Harry and Ron when they went exploring the ins and outs of the castle. Right now she could really use an invisibility cloak and the Marauders' Map, but wishing would get her nowhere.

Pressing her head against the stall, Hermione thought. She really didn't have a solution that would prevent anyone from seeing her – she had never learned any invisibility spells (besides being highly advanced magic, the practice of such spells were severely punished at Hogwarts), nor any other charms that would be of use to her right now. Any spell that would alter her facial or bodily features constituted a lighter branch Dark Magic, and thus were not taught at Hogwarts. The Defense Department's policy had always been to teach the students how to defend themselves in a dangerous situation, not how to avoid them entirely.

Wracking her brains, Hermione struggled to think of a single spell she knew that would help her avoid anyone she might encounter on her way to Dumbledore's office. The trouble was, she wasn't facing enemies, so offensive spells would be of no use to her. She'd never practiced memory charms, and she wasn't about to begin now.

Finally deciding that her best and only option was to swiftly and discreetly make her way to Dumbledore's office, Hermione shakily lifted up her bookbag and gingerly placed it back onto her shoulders.

With a trembling hand, Hermione eased open the cool metal lock on the stall door and pushed the door out slowly, as if there might indeed be an angry troll waiting for her on the other side. Seeing that the bathroom was still quite empty, Hermione quickly walked to the sinks.

Looking into the mirror, she saw that her face was still blotchy from crying, her eyes red. Bending over slightly, Hermione pulled her hair back and turned the sink on to a drizzle, wiping the cool wetness onto her burning cheeks.

The door to the bathroom flew open suddenly, causing Hermione's stomach to give a large flip. She quickly lowered her face further into the sink and splashed some more water onto her cheeks. The girl that had entered clicked by without noticing her, heading straight for the stalls.

Casting a sideways glance at the girl, Hermione saw from behind that she was tall and extremely slim, looking to be around her sixth or seventh year, with unnaturally blonde hair plunging to her mid-back that bounced as she stalked into a stall and slammed the door shut behind her.

When she heard the familiar sounds of bodily relief, Hermione knew it was time to go; she couldn't risk being discovered right now. Quickly drying her face on her sleeve, Hermione then ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it down slightly - it had been severely mussed during her crying spell.

When the toilet flushed, Hermione hastily pushed her hair behind her ear and heaved open the bathroom door. Panicking again slightly, she darted into the hallway, instantly freezing. For a moment she resembled a meerkat, petrified, all senses alert to the slightest sound or movement.

Hermione's breathing returned to normal when she found the hallway to be utterly silent, almost eerily so. Her heart pounding in her ears, Hermione carefully treaded down the hallway, the clicking of her patent leather dress heels resonating in the quiet hall.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

It seemed to grow louder and louder. Hermione was sure she would wake up the entire castle with the racket.

Stopping at the next corner, Hermione paused and slipped her shoes off. Hanging them from her fingers by the cups of the heels, she peeked around the corner tentatively. Seeing no one, she glided quickly down the next hall, keeping her eyes and ears open for any perceptible noise or sight. She had no particular plan in the event that she ran into someone - for the first time, Hermione had to rely solely on her gut instinct.

Reaching another junction, Hermione padded to a stop once again. The open area to her left would take her down three main flights of stairs whose landing was just short of Dumbledore's office. To her right was to another hallway leading in the opposite direction, but Hermione knew a path down that hall that would also lead to Dumbledore's office. Though it was at least three times as long, she knew that it was seldom used by students and often nearly deserted after school.

Part of Hermione told her that if she took the steps quickly and kept her head down, she would be at Dumbledore's office in less than a minute. Taking a few small steps towards the stairwell, Hermione looked into the open floors below. Beyond the changing stairways, around fifteen students were walking, heading to their unknown destinations. Too many. Hermione chose the safer passage, and quickly turned and headed into the History hall.

As she passed various open doors, Hermione sped past them, still trying to appear inconspicuous. On a Wednesday afternoon, most teachers would be in their offices grading homework, which provided her with a small amount of relief. Almost becoming comfortable with the empty hallway, the only noise coming from the soft pattering of her nylon-clad feet, Hermione calmed down slightly, allowing her heart to return as close to normal as it could.

Quite suddenly, a ghost glided out of the stone wall just ahead of Hermione, causing her to come skidding to a halt, clutching the wall for support.

As she quickly struggled to stop in her slippery stockings, Hermione's mind panicked yet again. Her eyes had flown to the floor when she lurched forward; she didn't know who the ghost was. If it was Nearly Headless Nick, or even the Bloody Baron, or Peeves, she was done for. Slowly, Hermione raised her head, biting her lip anxiously.

"Miss Ebbs!" Professor Binn snapped, drawing himself up to his full height, which was not much taller than Hermione. "_Do_ watch where you are going!"

"Professor Binns!" Hermione exclaimed with a solid rush of relief. "It's you!"

Hermione could not think of a better ghost she could have run into. If he hadn't recognized her in the present after seven years in his class, she doubted he would suspect anything this time.

"If you want to know what grade you received on the test, you'll just have to wait until class tomorrow." Binns continued grumpily, making no indication that he had heard her. "Good day to you."

Without another word, he glided past her and down the hallway to the staff room.

Hermione shakily began walking again, quickly reaching the stairwell at the end of the hallway. She let out a nervous breath as she hastily made her way down the staircase. If that had been any other ghost…

Hermione forced her mind to not dwell on what had just happened. She didn't have time for what-ifs. All that mattered now was getting to Dumbledore – she could worry later.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Hermione carefully peeked around the corner into the next hallway. Seeing that two girls were walking in her direction at the far end of the hall, she immediately withdrew her head and pressed her back against the wall next to the door.

Waiting, Hermione shook her head. Here she was, the top student in her class, favorite of every professor, now on the run. She, who had never been accused of insubordination, whose only detentions and point deductions had been a result of either Harry and Ron or her overachieving efforts in Professor Snape's class, was now facing the very real possibility that she could be facing a Ministry inquiry and investigation by the end of the evening. Unfortunately, Hermione was not in the right frame of mind to appreciate the irony.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione peered around the corner again. Nobody. Slowly, she slipped into the hallway and began walking. Many of the classroom doors were open, which increased her sense of unease. In one classroom a boy and the two girls she had seen were being tutored by a professor. No one looked up as she passed. In another class she saw a boy with floppy brown hair concentrating hard on either a test or homework, while the teacher in her desk was absorbed in grading papers.

Thankful that the after-school dwellers seemed to only be interested in their respective activities, Hermione let out a deep breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Relaxing slightly, she concentrated now on the next stairwell at the end of the hall.

"Ah, excuse me – Miss?" A male voice called down the hallway.

Hermione's stomach turned to ice. She continued walking at the same pace, pretending she didn't hear whoever was speaking, clutching a faint hope that he was trying to hail someone other than her.

"Ma'am, you with the brown hair! I just need to see your pass!" The voice called again. It was definitely not a student, and it was unmistakably directed at Hermione.

Hermione's eyes flickered at the doors of the hallway, looking for an escape. For the first time, she was blatantly disobeying a teacher. She had no choice, she thought. She wouldn't be able to clearly explain what she was doing there, let alone provide any sort of "pass" for being there in the first place.

"Ma'am!" The teacher called, his voice growing irritated. Hermione could hear him walking in her direction.

She needed an escape, and she needed it now. Spying a golden doorknob to her left, Hermione flung it open with her free hand and stepped inside quickly, hoping that there was no one inside she would owe an explanation to.

To Hermione's great relief, it was simply a broom closet. Around her there were various Quidditch cloaks, brooms, and a couple trunks filled with the various balls and bats for the sport. It was a small closet, but it was just deep enough for her to duck behind a few of the cloaks.

It wasn't until she stopped and collected herself that Hermione realized what an enormous mistake she had just made. Whichever teacher she had just angered would be following her now, and would have seen exactly which doorway she had entered. He would be flinging this door open any second now, would reach in, and—

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as heavy footsteps approached the door. To her complete and utter surprise however, they passed without even pausing. She heard the footsteps continue until they apparently reached another classroom door. The stone walls muffled any conversation she tried to overhear, but the footsteps resumed a few moments later.

Sighing in relief, Hermione looked around her, waiting for an opportune moment to make her escape. She was just about to peek out the door when a shelf on the wall to her left caught her eye. Peering up at it, she saw two scraps of parchment laying there, in near plain sight.

Quickly, she dropped her shoes to the floor and slipped them back on. Reaching up curiously, she plucked the papers down and examined them – perhaps they would give her a clue as to the exact time she was in.

The first piece of paper was small, about the size of an index card. It was pale green, and at read:

****

ADMITTANCE PASS

**Allowing this student,_ Hermione Granger, _admittance to the east wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until the time of _4:45__ p.m_for the purpose of_ study_, this_ 17 April, 1978 ._**

**This pass admitted by:**

**__**

**_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_**

Hermione stared blankly at the card for a moment, her mouth dry. She had hoped answers would fall out of the sky, but the fact that they actually did left her stunned. Instead of answers, she seemed to have ten times more questions. Why did she need a pass? Where had this one come from, and why did it bear her own name? Had Professor Dumbledore really signed it? Did he know she was coming, then? How would he?

Despite her mind's new flurry of questions and thoughts, Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the present. She could figure out why Dumbledore had issued a pass to her two and a half years before her birth later, when she talked to him face-to-face. There had to be a perfectly legitimate reason that the pass she needed was simply sitting on a shelf—

Of course. Hermione shook her head at her own ignorance. How could she not have remembered this very hallway, the one she had traipsed up and down countless times during her fifth year, looking for the entrance to the secret D.A. meetings? It was pure luck that this had been the hallway she was travelling through when she had been nearly discovered, but Hermione was grateful that her luck had played out this way. The Room of Requirements had always gone above and beyond the call of duty.

Slipping the green pass into the pocket of her robes, Hermione turned her attention to the scrap of parchment. It was the standard creamy color with the slightly irregular texture – in fact, it looked exactly like something she would use for her own homework. Slightly puzzled as to how this was supposed to help her, Hermione quickly pulled a quill out of her bookbag and scratched a small scribble into the upper right corner of the paper. It stayed there for a few seconds, before vanishing eerily.

Frowning, Hermione turned the paper over, examining it closely. She didn't know what it could be.

"What's your secret?" She whispered under her breath, running her hand over the parchment. "It has to be something…"

Hermione's eyes widened as thick, slanted words, seemingly hand-written, began to flow across the page.

"**_Mr. Prongs thinks it is ridiculous to expect a spare scrap of parchment to respond to such a question._**"

More appeared in another handwriting.

"**Mr. Padfoot agrees, and thinks anyone who sees a parchment speaking to them would be clinically insane.**"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. The Marauder's Map – of course! Hermione hadn't even thought of it – the last time she had properly seen the thing was in her third year; after she had registered her concerns to Harry and Ron about it, they hadn't used it around her again. Furthermore, she had no idea as to how to activate the map. She had walked in on Ron using it once, but she couldn't remember what the password was.

"The Marauder's Map, correct?" She asked the parchment, trying to keep her voice steady and confident. "I know what this is, I just need to know how to get the map. Please."

"_Mr. Moony is wary of giving away such information, as the user of this scrap parchment might be up to some good…"_ the parchment said in thin, elegant print, as the previous words faded away.

"I…" Hermione stopped – these were the Marauders, after all. From what she had heard, they were even greater pranksters than the Weasleys – playing the Head Girl card would help her none here. "I'm not up to any good."

"Mr. Wormtail would like to see said user swear." The parchment simply responded in a scrawlish print.

"I _swear_ I'm not up to any good, then." Hermione whispered.

"**_Mr. Prongs wishes to register his concern that the user is not solemn enough._**"

Hermione sighed. "I _solemnly _swear that I'm not up to any good."

"**Mr. Padfoot'd like to mention that this here map doesn't recognize contractions, and if you're wanting access, you'd better straighten up your grammar, hear?**"

Hermione groaned in frustration. "I solemnly swear that I am not up to any good. Good enough?"

"_Mr. Moony believes that the point has been made._"

"**_Mr. Prongs would like to remind the user that once his or her mischief has been managed, to kindly conceal the contents of the map and return it to the proper owners._**"

The words faded away, revealing a detailed map of the castle, which was centered on Hermione's present location. Crying out in excitement, she hungrily read the information it contained. A dot labeled "_John Pretecos_" seemed to be pacing the hallway, while another dot labeled "_Hermione_ _Granger_" stood motionless in an unmarked room. In other classrooms were a variety of different dots and names, all sitting still.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione folded the parchment and stuffed it in her pocket. She stepped forward and reached to open the door to reenter the hallway. As she was doing so, a jagged edge of what was perhaps a clothes hanger caught on the back of her neck, scraping it roughly. Groaning slightly, Hermione pressed her right hand to the wound as she pulled on the handle to the door, and slipped back into the hallway.

"You." Professor Pretecos was upon her immediately. He was a tall, wiry man that looked to be in his mid-forties, with wire-rimmed spectacles, piercing pale blue eyes, and brown hair that was neatly parted to the left. "I need to see your pass, young lady. I don't appreciate the way you ignored me a few minutes ago – you're about to get a _one-way_ pass to Dumbledore's office!" Pretecos' voice rose.

Hermione did some very quick thinking. She lifted her head and focused her gaze on the rim of his spectacles, not meeting his eye. As she did so, she released some of her nervousness by rubbing her neck, and felt the cool metal of her Head Girl badge pressing against her wrist.

"I'm sorry, Professor Pretecos." She said in a loud, non-threatening voice. "I- I guess I didn't hear you ask for my pass earlier—you see, I had a slight mishap with a spell this morning, and my hearing's been a bit off all day—"

"I see." Pretecos frowned at Hermione, giving her a once-over. From her now unkempt hair to the hand that was clasped over the back of her neck, Pretecos didn't doubt that the girl was capable of destroying her own hearing. From her tie, he could tell she was an older Gryffindor; she must not have ever taken Arithmancy, for he had never seen her inside his class, much less outside of it. Pursing his lips, he replied loudly, "Very well, Miss. Just show me your pass, then get to Madame Pomfrey."

"Yes sir." Hermione nearly shouted, surprised that her farce was working. She pulled out the green slip from her left pocket and handed it to the teacher.

He gave it a careful examination, which seemed to take an eternity. What would happen if he rejected it? Hermione didn't dare to wonder.

"Very well." Pretecos handed the slip back to her. "Thank you, Miss Granger, go on. This expires in ten minutes."

"Yes sir, thank you!" Hermione was sure she was audible from three hallways over, but she didn't care – she had just slipped past the radar of a watchful teacher. Smiling, she briskly walked past the professor, quickly entering the stairwell.

Pausing at the first step, Hermione once again took a look at the Marauder's Map. The hallway this stairwell led to contained Dumbledore's office, but it was near the heart of the school, which would probably not be as deserted as the previous hallways were.

Sure enough, there were three dots, labeled "_Minerva McGonagall_", "_Jeremey Stevens_", and "_Mona Inghean_" in the hallway near Dumbledore's office. Slowly descending the long staircase, Hermione studied the movements of the dots. Professor McGonagall looked as if she had just left Dumbledore's office, and was moving towards the main halls. Jeremy headed up the hallway and entered the boy's bathroom on the right, and Mona moved down the hall in the same direction as McGonagall.

Reaching the next hall, Hermione waited a moment to make sure none of the other dots in the other hallways were entering the one she was in. Feeling halfway assured that she would be alright, Hermione stepped into the final hall, making her way to the large gargoyle that stood guard before the entrance to the office.

She didn't know the password.

Fear, now a familiar feeling, struck Hermione hard as she stared at the cold granite. She had been so wrapped up in getting to the entrance that she had not considered what the password would be.

No matter. Hermione remembered that Harry had once said that Dumbledore's passwords were always sweets. She would just have to guess, that was all.

Raising her head, Hermione said confidently, "Peppermint Humbugs."

Nothing.

"Ice Mice." Hermione tried next, but it was to no avail. "Cauldron Cakes? Peppermint Imps. Peppermint Toads."

The gargoyle continued to remain in place, as stony as ever.

Hermione cast another hasty glance at the map, swallowing. The swarm of dots was always in motion; she was sure they were all headed into this very hallway. At least a few of them would be. Quickly, she blurted out the next few sweets that came to mind.

"Lemon Drops. Blood-Flavored Lollipops. Cockroach Clusters. Slime Suckers."

Hermione racked her brain, trying to recall the rows and rows of candy brands at Honeyduke's. She only hoped that everything she had seen there was invented before the 1970's.

The map showed a "_Sestran Bvasenok_" entering the hallway from her left. Hermione looked up, to see another professor heading in her direction. She addressed the gargoyle pleadingly.

"Chocolate Gateau. Toothflossing Stringmints. Licorice Wands… Jelly Slugs…"

The teacher was moving closer now; Hermione could almost feel his eyes boring into her head.

"Fudge Flies! Exploding Bon-Bons! Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!"

Craning his neck, the professor was now walking toward Hermione, now only about thirty feet away.

Feeling panicked tears stinging her eyes, Hermione rattled off the next sweets that came to mind.

"Chocoballs! Chocolate Frogs! Treacle Fudge! Oh, c'mon… Acid Pops, Bertie Bott's, Fizzing Whizbee's, Sugar Quills—"

As soon as the last two words left her mouth, the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt out of the way as the stone wall behind it split in two, revealing the revolving staircase that would take her straight to Dumbledore's door.

Sighing shakily and thanking her lucky stars, Hermione climbed the first step.


	5. Punishment

Remus stared disgustedly at Malfoy, every muscle in his body restraining him from taking care of the boy himself. If he were to have his way, not even the specialists at St. Mungo's would be able to put him back together. After all, he most certainly deserved it. Sending an innocent girl – _Hermione_ – back in time, with no foreseeable means of returning her safely, risking drastically altering history… the boy deserved pain, and he deserved to rot in Azkaban prison. 

He shook his head, trying to dispel his angry thoughts. After all the times he himself had been judged, he was in no place to pass judgment onto someone else. The boy had made a considerably serious error, and there was no doubt he would be punished accordingly. He trusted that the Headmaster wouldn't let the boy off lightly; he knew how valuable and precious a person Hermione was just as much as Remus. If they lost her… Remus forced the possibility out of his mind.

Instead, he sat back and observed the Headmaster's vain attempts to get through to the boy. He could almost see the words going in one side of Malfoy's head and exiting the other. The boy's expression remained closed and obstinate until the door in the back of the room flew open.

They all turned quickly looked to the back of the room, where Professor Snape had stridden in, shutting the door behind him and sweeping to the desk in the front of the robe. As always, his face was sour and brooding, but there was a more precise, restrained manner in which he shut the door and evenly walked to Dumbledore's side, his black shoes rhythmically tapping the hard stone floor as he crossed the room. His shoulders and chin were raised and steady per his normal stance, but his robes did not billow behind him as they normally did; this time he was walking methodically, abandoning his usual speed-walk that picked up the wind into his robes. As he approached Dumbledore, the Headmaster drew up for him another chair, plain and wooden, with a swish of his wand.

Silently, he took the empty seat next to Dumbledore, scanning Lupin and the three students suspiciously with narrow eyes.

"Severus." Dumbledore greeted him cordially. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Professor Snape." Malfoy said, in a tone that was clearly meant to remind him of what family he was dealing with, and what his behavior was expected to be.

"I assume it's happened, then?" Snape finally spoke, his tone indifferent. His dark black eyes skimmed across Crabbe, Malfoy, and Goyle. "I don't suppose I need ask who's to blame."

"It seems that Mr. Malfoy, with the aid of Messieurs Crabbe and Goyle, cast a spell upon Hermione Granger with the intent of sending her back in time." Dumbledore explained, his eyes never leaving Malfoy.

"Is that so?" Snape answered uninterestedly, now examining his cuticles.

Remus shot the man a hot glare. He knew Severus' apathy towards the plights of non-Slytherin students, especially Gryffindors, but he fully expected the man to show at least some concern. Forgetting the fact that Malfoy had just broken several international wizarding laws, ignoring the possibility that history could be severely altered – this was a human being, one they had known for over seven years. Seven going on twenty. If Severus didn't at least feel _something_… Remus shook his head.

"I'm afraid I must apologize, Severus," Dumbledore said heavily, folding his hands. "Short of mere courtesy, your presence here is only required to sign a few dotted lines."

"I was under the impression, Headmaster, that punishment for Slytherins lay within my jurisdiction." Snape replied dryly, maintaining eye contact with one of the desk's drawer handles.

"Unfortunately, Severus, the nature of Mr. Malfoy's crimes break such laws that I feel compelled to take decisive action in the best interests of this school." Dumbledore responded, turning his head in Snape's general direction.

"With all due respect, Headmaster," Snape rebutted, his dry monotonous voice sounding as if he were reading from a script, "you are aware that the assignment of punishment is vested in the Heads of Houses?"

"In almost all circumstances, it is, Severus." Dumbledore acknowledged him. "However, when a student has been killed or put into grave danger, it is the prerogative of the Headmaster to decide the appropriate consequences, as you will find in the Hogwarts Code of Rules, page seventy-eight, second paragraph down."

"So be it." Snape uttered the three words and withdrew once again into his closed state, his mind seemingly on a completely different plane.

Malfoy frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about? I'm being suspended?

"However, Severus," Dumbledore continued as if Malfoy hadn't spoken, once again pulling Snape from his semi-catatonic state, "the fate of Vincent and Gregory's future here lies largely in your hands. The only crime they committed was in preventing one, which escapes my control."

"Then they will each receive a week of detentions and letters home to their parents." Snape responded, without hesitation. "As well as twenty-five points each from Slytherin house."

"Fifty points?" Remus repeated, his voice rising slightly. "Fifty points, for sending an innocent girl into another time?"

"Remus…" Dumbledore raised his hand from the desk slightly to quiet him. "Their punishment is Severus' decision, no one will question it.

"Fine." Remus shook his head in disgust. "Of course."

Snape sat perfectly straight in his chair, still looking at no one, but rather at an uninteresting spot on the desk. He could feel Lupin's eyes boring into his temple, no doubt furious at his lack of emotion. What did he expect? If Lupin weren't so deeply wrapped in his own emotions, perhaps he would be able to grasp the bigger picture.

"Now…" Dumbledore drew a scroll of parchment from his robes and unrolled it on Remus' desk. It appeared to be rather old, its edges yellow and frail looking. It was one foot long, and contained several paragraphs of text written in a rather small script, with appropriate blanks and room for signatures throughout. Dumbledore dipped Remus' quill into the inkwell carefully. "If you would all sit still for a moment, there are a few loose ends to tie…"

As Dumbledore's quill scratched onto the old parchment, Snape shook his head imperceptibly. Many of the staff knew that this was going to happen years and years ago. He could think of at least five other teachers that had spent the day secretly wringing their hands in the staff room. Now that Granger was indeed gone, there would be a muted hysteria among most of them. But why? They all knew what had happened. It was in the past. There was always the possibility she might not have returned safely, but—

"There we are." Dumbledore announced, filling in the last blank with a pointed period. "Now, I am afraid I must do something I have not had to do in nineteen years." He sighed in the general direction of the desk, setting the quill down gently.

Malfoy frowned in confusion, then leaned forwards slightly to see just what was on this paper that seemed to be so important. His face blanched as his pale eyes scanned the upside-down title, inscribed in elegant calligraphy:

**_DECREE OF EXPULSION_**

The dead white of Draco's face lasted only a moment, before a deep scarlet, angry flush set in. His neck snapped up, and he snarled at Dumbledore furiously.

"What, you can't expel me!" He cried angrily. "I'm two months away from graduation! And besides, you've let Gryffindors get away with worse!" Malfoy cast a dark glare at Remus, whose jaw stiffened slightly.

"I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy, " Dumbledore answered, "that your punishment is just as severe as it would be for any other student in this school who committed such a crime. Besides, expulsion is the least of your worries at the moment." Dumbledore signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of the page. "I was hoping that it would be many more years before I had to take a wand. I naively thought I might perhaps make it to twenty."

"My wand?" His face paled again.

"Don't worry, you won't be needing it." Dumbledore passed the parchment and quill to Snape, who proceeded to sign his name on the line under the Headmaster's without question.

"Remus, if I may have Mr. Malfoy's wand?" Dumbledore turned towards him, rolling the parchment neatly.

Remus nodded, and drew the three wands from his pocket. "Nine and a half inches, oak – correct?"

A dark glare answered his question. Remus handed the wand to Dumbledore, who gingerly grasped it with his thumb and forefinger at either end, and placed it on his desk.

"Y-you're not snapping it?" Malfoy asked weakly, as if Dumbledore were threatening his most sensitive regions.

"I can assure you that I will not take any pleasure in doing so." Dumbledore replied quietly. "As a matter of fact, I abhor snapping wands. But, it is my duty as Headmaster to ensure the safety of the school, and to take decisive action when a student poses a serious threat to the school and community—"

"You can't snap my wand!" Malfoy cried out, his voice rising a few octaves. "I need it!"

"As I said, your studies here are done." Dumbledore explained patiently. "If and when you are released back into society, you may acquire a new wand, after a time in which you find a way to receive a diploma of completion of primary studies in magic."

Malfoy swore under his breath. "You won't get away with this, Dumbledore."

"From this point forwards, I would strongly advise you to choose your words very carefully, Draco." Dumbledore said in a serious tone. "It won't get any easier from here."

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked belligerently. "If anything, it'll get harder for _you_, when I'm out of this bloody school and--"

Malfoy was cut off when the door to Remus' office in the front of the room swung open once again, and four people filed in solemnly.

Remus recognized the first person immediately – Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. As usual, he was wearing his lime-green bowler hat, which clearly made a failed attempt to accent his deep green robes. Behind him was Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a solid woman with short gray hair and a round monocle in her left eye. She was followed by two aurors Remus recognized immediately: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks. The former was a tall, strapping black man, towering a foot and a half above the petite Tonks, who was sporting a styled, chin-length navy blue bob that day. She gave Remus a small smile; he gave her a slight nod, his eyes traveling back to Fudge.

"Dumbledore!" Fudge greeted him jauntily. "We would have been here sooner, but we expected you to be in your office, where your letter was sent from—"

"Never mind that," Bones dismissed her boss with a wave of her hand. "What's going on? There hasn't been an expulsion in my career, Headmaster."

Dumbledore hesitated. "What happened today involves matters of a particularly sensitive nature," he began, " as such. Would it be possible—"

Before Dumbledore could even finish his question, Madame Bones jerked her head at the door. "Tonks. Shacklebolt. Out."

Tonks gave Dumbledore a slightly hurt look, but she did as they were instructed, and quietly left the room.

When the door closed behind them, Dumbledore proceeded to quickly and thoroughly explain the situation at hand.

"You have the wand, then?" Madame Bones asked after he had finished, her face hardening in anger.

Dumbledore silently handed the woman Malfoy's wand.

"_Priori Incantato_." Madame Bones flicked the wand lightly in front of her. A ghostly, translucent red hourglass flowed from the wand, spinning for several seconds before dissipating on its own.

"Nineteen…" she murmured, before turning her attention back to Malfoy.

"You'll be facing a hearing for this, young man," she said in a harsh voice. "Assuming your Headmaster already has the Expulsion form ready to go, you'll be spending the time until your trial in Azkaban Prison."

Malfoy swore silently under his breath as Dumbledore responded in a somber voice "I do, Amelia."

He swished his wand at the Decree of Expulsion, and a second identical copy appeared instantly. He rolled it neatly and handed it to Madame Bones, who slipped it into her robes.

"Might as well get this all over with in one go." Madame Bones offered Malfoy's wand to Dumbledore.

"I never particularly enjoyed this aspect of being Headmaster." Dumbledore sighed. With his deceivingly frail-looking old hands, he gripped the wand firmly at either end, thumbs each meeting two inches away from the center. With one last disappointed shake of his head, Dumbledore swiftly but firmly brought his wrists down to meet in one fluid motion, thereby snapping Malfoy's wand in two.

Malfoy visibly flinched as his wand broke, and both Remus and Snape's jaws clenched. It was a severe act of dishonor for one's wand to have been broken as punishment; like snapping a fisherman's rod, or an artist's paintbrush. Wands were so central to the wizarding life that they were a brand of sacred. Everyone in the room, though knowing that this was a necessary act and it was undoubtedly for the best, could feel the effects of it in their chests.

A long silence followed, as the eight pairs of eyes in the room rested solely on the two pieces of broken wood, lying on the desk, lifeless. A thin, round piece of torn deep scarlet material hung limply from one end of the wand, easily recognizable as a dragon heartstring.

Dumbledore finally broke the silence.

"Amelia, I will arrange for Mr. Malfoy's personal belongings to be packed and deposited at the Ministry by morning. I grant permission for anything found in his possession to be used in his hearing."

"Thank you, sir." Bones nodded. She turned her head and barked: "Tonks! Shacklebolt!"

The door to the office opened, and the two aurors reentered the room, each stuffing something into their pockets with one hand and firmly rubbing their right ears with the other, wincing painfully.

"Take this boy into custody." She motioned towards Malfoy with her hand. "Give him a nice cell in Azkaban, and once you're done with the paperwork, get back here and search and pack his belongings. I want anything suspicious reported directly to me."

"Yes ma'am." Tonks and Kingsley nodded, and moved to either side of Malfoy, who sneered at them unpleasantly. Tonks grasped his already bound wrists and began to bind them further with various spells, while Shacklebolt stood nearby, reciting his rights.

"Draco Malfoy, you are under arrest for the improper and criminal abuse of time-altering magic. At this time your wand has been revoked. Your words and actions from this point forward can be subject to use in your criminal hearing. During your incarceration at Azkaban prison, you are permitted to send one owl, which will be read by Azkaban guards and judged to be safe before delivered. You will remain incarcerated at Azkaban until the time of your criminal hearing, which will determine whether you are to remain incarcerated. You will be allowed to have visitors before your hearing, and your status as a minor means that you will receive complimentary legal counsel from the Ministry… and chocolate milk during lunches."

"Kingsley!" Madame Bones scolded, frowning. "That will be enough. Get him out of here."

Shacklebolt took hold of Malfoy's upper arm with a thick, strong grip and jerked him to his feet unmercifully. Tonks grabbed his other arm, and together the pair dragged him forcefully out of the room, occasionally jerking him forward every few steps so as to make sure that he never kept his balance for long. Through the Order of the Phoenix, the two aurors had been close friends to Hermione, and were rightfully furious that something had happened to her. Both of them mentally dared Draco to make just one wrong move, to give them just one reason to act.

After the door to the office was slammed shut, a heavy silence once again fell upon the room. After a few moments, Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat, glancing curiously at the door.

"How did he know—?" He began, his voice trailing off.

"They're aurors, and well-trained ones, Cornelius." Amelia Bones told him. "They don't get that far without learning how to listen."

"Right, then." Cornelius shook his head. "Well, it seems our work here is done, Dumbledore." He said authoritatively, adjusting his bowler hat. "I'll be in contact with you later on to work out the details of this, and I imagine Amelia will be as well."

"That's correct." She nodded. "This matter is rather unprecedented; this matter will need to be handled carefully. We'll leave you to wrap up the loose ends here; perhaps I'll Floo you tonight?"

"I will be in my office, Amelia." Dumbledore nodded.

With a curt nod, Bones and Fudge turned 'round and exited the way they came wordlessly. Dumbledore wasted no time in turning to Crabbe and Goyle.

"You two." He said, looking over his spectacles at their faces. "In addition to the punishment that Professor Snape has already allotted, you will both receive a week of in-school suspension; whether or not you will be allowed to make up schoolwork that you miss will be left to the discretion of each of your teachers. You are banned from all Hogwarts events and activities save for your graduation for the rest of the year, which includes Hogsmeade trips and Quidditch. You will also each spend two sets of nineteen hours with Mr. Filch and Professor Hagrid in helping them clean the school and grounds. All of this is to be completed before graduation; if you each do not put in thirty-eight hours of work here at this school, which is easily manageable in the next two months, then you will not walk across the stage with your peers. This will not affect your schoolwork; you must pass each of your classes to graduate as well. In addition, you may not put in your work hours during school or your suspension hours. Do you understand?"

Crabbe and Goyle each nodded solemnly. They weren't the sharpest quills in the jar, but after what they had seen happen to their friend and boss, they both knew that they were getting off relatively light.

"Very well. You may each return to your dormitories. You are to see your Head of House after dinner to review the terms of your suspensions."

Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other, and decided to take the exit that was given to them. Not wasting a moment, they silently rose from their chairs and trudged out of the room without a backward glance.

"I will speak to members of the faculty tonight to arrange their suspension schedules, Headmaster." Snape said to him as soon as the pair of Slytherins left the room. "If you like, I will also speak to Filch and Hagrid, as well."

"That would be most helpful, Severus." Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you."

Snape took this as his dismissal and rose from his chair, and silently glided out of the room. As before, he walked with a slightly slower pace, not as rushed as usual, but more carefully measured, leaving his cloak less billowed than usual. As he opened the door, he cast a fleeting glance at Remus, who was not looking back, then briskly exited the room.

"Well… I guess that's that." Remus spoke quickly, wanting to avoid the uncomfortable silence that seemed desperate to fall upon the air at every opportunity.

"This is only the beginning, Remus." Dumbledore said, turning to place a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "There is still much work to be done." He paused, and then added, "You're going to have to remain strong, for everyone. Harry and Ron are going to turn to you for support. I'll also need you to help me out with dealing with the Ministry from time to time, as there will be a lot to be done. The stronger you are, the faster we can find a way."

Remus looked up at the Headmaster with reddish eyes, his face pale and tired. "Is there a way, Professor?"

"I am fairly certain that there will be, Remus." Dumbledore nodded. "But alas, even I don't have all of the answers."

Remus nodded, and swallowed, his eyes once again averting to the floor.

"There are matters I must attend to now." Dumbledore stood, not moving his hand from Remus' shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Remus. If you need to have a cup of tea, I'll be in my office whenever you need me."

"Thank you, sir." He whispered.

Dumbledore pressed his shoulder gently before left the room quietly, leaving Remus to his thoughts.


	6. Safety at Last

Hermione breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the stone walls closed behind her, and the spiraled wooden staircase curled ever upwards towards Dumbledore's office. She chose to wait out the ride, instead of jogging up the steps to the massive door that bore the famous Gryffindor crest. Her nerves felt like they had been alternately dunked in cold ice and hot water, creating an unpleasant tingling sensation that spanned her stomach and up her spine. In the space of fifteen minutes she had experienced more panic and stress than any Hogwarts exam she'd ever studied for. She hoped that this could be resolved within minutes in Dumbledore's office. Perhaps, she dared to imagine, this had happened before, kids tinkering around with obscure and complex spells. Perhaps he had a spare Time-Turner in his desk for just this sort of occasion. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore. What _didn't _he have in his desk? 

All too soon, Hermione found herself at the top of the stairs. Pulling the Marauder's Map out of her pocket again, she checked to make sure Dumbledore was alone in his office. He was. He appeared to be sitting at his desk. Perhaps he was doing paperwork, writing a letter… hopefully nothing more urgent than helping out a student sent back in time. Wishing for a quick resolution, Hermione forced down her nervousness and strode forward, knocking on the massive door three times, hoping to make the knocks sound as confident and assertive as possible.

"Yes, come in." She heard Dumbledore say, his voice not nearly as obscured by the thickness of the door as she'd imagined. She tightened her jaw and opened the door, taking two quick steps into his office.

Most of the doubt that Hermione had indeed leapt back in time had been gone already, but it was confirmed when she laid her eyes on her Headmaster. She was facing an Albus Dumbledore who had not yet seen the fall of Voldemort, who had not yet seen most of his friends die at the Dark Lord's hands. Hermione knew that in this year Voldemort was nearly at the peak of his power, but she saw little of that worry in Dumbledore's face. He was still an old man, but the tired lines and bags under his eyes were only a fraction of what she'd known in her own day. His hair, the most noticeable change, showed little of the gray that would take over in the next twenty years. It was a rich auburn, reaching his mid-back, the same length as his memorable beard. Hermione, despite her shock, couldn't help but give a little smile when she saw the all-too-familiar omnipresent twinkle in his eye, a reminder that life still contains mirth and happiness, even in the darkest of times. That little twinkle, for the briefest of moments, made Hermione feel safe again, like she had never left her familiar home of the future.

The moment was gone quicker than it came. Dumbledore blinked, and reality came crashing down on Hermione. His eyes never left her face, and panic crept slowly back into her body as she realized that his face carried no trace of recognition, and the corners of his lips did not turn up into the kind smile that he always greeted her with. For the first time, she was a stranger in his office, an intruder. Her mind suddenly went blank. She realized after half a moment that she was simply standing in the doorway, and decided shut the door behind her. She did so quietly, as if making a noise would cause the situation to worsen.

"May I help you?" Dumbledore's voice was even, carrying neither kindness nor hostility. Hermione saw that his hands were both on his desk, folded gently. Though she knew it was impossible, the deepest part of her secretly wished that he would follow his sentence with "Miss Granger", or better yet, "Hermione", but he continued to meet her eyes with a surveying gaze, knowing that she was not part of his student body.

"Erm…" Hermione let out a shaky breath. She had focused so hard on getting here that she was now at a loss for words. She had childishly expected to be able to waltz in, rattle off a quick explanation, and have the grandfatherly Dumbledore send her on her way, no harm done. However, she could quickly see that this was reality, and it wasn't going to be that simple. She didn't have any idea how to begin. _Hi, my name is Hermione Granger, and I got sent back into the past. Hi, I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm from the future._ Even Dumbledore, in all his fairness, would think she was a lunatic. Her mouth moved a couple times, trying to find words, but nothing came out.

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore picked up an open tin on his desk and held it out to her, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

With the combination of panic, stress, shock, and hormones, this sent Hermione over the edge. Of course it was the same Dumbledore, the wise, kind, protective, sweet Dumbledore. Here she was, a stranger, an enemy, for all he knew, and he had just offered her a lemon drop. Her eyes quickly welled up with involuntary tears, and she nodded, smiling. He shook the tin slightly, and Hermione stepped forward tentatively, plucking one small candy from the center. She quickly wiped away a stream of tears that cascaded down her cheeks, and let out a choked laugh.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologized quickly. "I just... I—" Once again, she was completely lost for words.

"Why don't you sit down?" Dumbledore smiled and gestured at one of the seats in front of his desk.

Nodding quickly, Hermione sank into the comfortable seat, the lemon drop clasped in her fist tightly. "T-thank you, sir." She said breathlessly, before sniffing quietly. Another moment of silence passed, Hermione now too timid to speak.

"Why don't you start off with telling me your name?" Dumbledore asked gently, taking a lemon drop for himself.

"H-Hermione Granger." She replied, looking up from her hands.

"Ah, daughter of Menelaus and Helen, if I'm not mistaken. It's a beautiful name." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

For a brief moment Hermione's mouth opened, perplexed. She wondered if Dumbledore had somehow confused her with a rare other Hermione, until she realized that he was referring to mythology. Of course.

"Y-yes, you're right." She responded, a small smile coming to her face. "A-about the history, I mean. Err, thank you." She stammered, knowing that she sounded every bit as nervous as she looked. It took her every bit of willpower she had not to wring her hands while she spoke.

"Yes, she was the granddaughter of Zeus, if memory serves me well. Not a bad lineage." Dumbledore responded.

"No, I'd think not." Hermione said, swallowing. "Unfortunately, I don't have any gods in my family. My parents are both dentists, and we don't live anywhere near Olympus."

"Ah, but what a noble profession." Dumbledore rebutted. "Dentists can be lifesavers, especially for sugar fanciers such as myself."

Hermione chuckled, looking back down into her hands. "I find it hard to believe that you've ever gotten a cavity, sir."

"Well, perhaps not, but had it not been for magic I would have needed those muggle contraptions, braces, when I was younger. I've always been fascinated by their ingenuity. It's astounding how far they've come without magic."

"Well sir, they don't know any differently." Hermione replied. "A bumblebee doesn't know that it shouldn't be able to fly. It… just does."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "Looks, cleverness, _and_ wisdom. You'll go far in life, Hermione."

Hermione's cheeks flushed deeply, and she smiled in embarrassment. "Oh... thank you." She gushed. She hesitated, then looked up at the Headmaster. "We've barely spoken five minutes, Professor, and already you presume to know me."

"True character isn't generally difficult to judge." Dumbledore replied wisely, sitting forward again. "I'm not often wrong, either." He added in an undertone.

Hermione smiled, more at ease now. This was still the same Dumbledore she knew, though he did not know her. She felt just as comfortable in his presence now as she did in her own time, as if she hadn't skipped a page. She looked up at him, her eyes quite a bit dryer.

"You, um, you haven't yet asked me what I'm doing here, Professor Dumbledore." She said in a would-be confident voice. She met his eyes tentatively. Though she felt more at ease, she still wasn't completely confident that he would believe her at all.

"I figured you'd get to it at some point." Dumbledore said kindly. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you seemed a bit nervous." He winked.

"A little." Hermione smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You haven't eaten your lemon drop." Dumbledore pointed out, peering over the edge of his desk, raising his chin.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot." Hermione tentatively placed the sweet in her mouth. Moving it to her cheek, she spoke again. "I normally don't eat much candy, it's a habit my parents got me into."

"A good one, or perhaps a bad one, depending on who you ask." Dumbledore joked. "I find sucking on candy to be relaxing, but that's just me."

Hermione smiled again. It faded after a moment, and she sighed. Her hands lost their battle, and she began wringing them slowly. "I really don't know where to begin, sir. It sounds so crazy, and as trusting as you are, I'm not sure even you would believe me."

"I've seen some pretty outlandish things in my day, Miss Granger." Dumbledore responded lightly. "Don't you worry about that."

"Okay… well…" Hermione sighed and looked at the creamy white ceiling, trying to find a place to begin. "You're going to laugh at me, I just know it." She said this in jest, in a flimsy effort to lighten the mood. Dumbledore had already broken the ice, but Hermione still couldn't bring herself to begin recounting the ridiculousness of her situation.

"I promise you I will not." Dumbledore assured her. "Why don't you start with what year you're from?"

Hermione's head snapped down, and she looked at him in amazement, her jaw dropping open slightly. "H-how—"

"It's not difficult, Hermione. You're wearing school robes that are of a different design than any uniform we've had to date, you seem to know me on a personal basis, your bag is of a much different fashion than I see in the halls these days, and I certainly haven't overlooked your Head Girl badge. Hogwarts is, dare I say it, impossible to break into these days, and unless you're the world's greatest dark witch, then I'd say you're simply a student out of joint in time."

"Oh..." Hermione scanned herself quickly, impressed that Dumbledore noticed all this. But of course he would, he was Professor Dumbledore, she mused to herself. "Well, now perhaps it doesn't seem so crazy after all." She chuckled. "I'm from 1997, sir."

"That's quite a few years, Hermione." Dumbledore lifted his eyebrows. "Was the trip of your own doing?"

"Oh, no, of course not, sir." Hermione quickly replied. "Time travel is _so_ dangerous, the most I've ever done is three hours--"

"You've time traveled before?" Dumbledore interrupted her. "Unless the Ministry has changed its laws, that's quite impressive."

"Well, it was sort of an exception, for how many classes I was taking in my third year," Hermione blushed again. "But anyway, I know the risks, and I'd never consent to anything this outrageous. No, a boy in my year, Dra—"

"No names, please, Hermione." Dumbledore stopped her, holding up a hand. "I wish to know nothing about the future that would affect my judgment years from now."

"Of course, sir, that's a good idea." Hermione concurred. "But yes, I was sent back against my will, and I found myself here. Not _here_ here, but over in the Arithmancy classroom, just outside of it."

"Really?" Dumbledore frowned. "I hope you didn't encounter any trouble getting over here then; that area is off-limits after school unless you have a pass to have after-school business there. The janitor coerced me into making it school policy after a certain group of miscreants set off one too many Dungbombs in the area."

Hermione laughed. "Well, I almost did… but fortunately I was able to get into the Room of Requirements, and I managed to find a pass in there." She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the slip of paper, and handed it to Dumbledore.

He surveyed the pass silently, then looked up at Hermione. "The Room of Requirements, you impress me more with each passing minute, Hermione. Many students have used it in their time here, I imagine, but few have ever known of it."

"I think it's one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets, sir." Hermione smiled. "It's positively invaluable."

"I can vouch for that." Dumbledore nodded. ""It has been quite useful in the past. And in the future as well, I see."

"Yes, sir." Hermione agreed. "Anyhow, I was hoping that perhaps we could have this matter resolved today. I've already risked enough by my mere presence; I'd like to get home to my own time as soon as possible." She said this all in one breath, hoping with every fiber of her being that the next thing to come to Dumbledore's face would be a smile. It wasn't.

"Miss Granger, you seem like a highly intelligent young woman. Though I have no doubt that advances in time travel have been made twenty years hence, this is still the past for you. Suffice it to say that the sort of magical technology that could send you forward twenty years does not exist at this point in time."

The full impact of the Headmaster's words did not sink into Hermione immediately. She simply stared at Dumbledore a moment, processing the information. The technology didn't exist yet. Yet. That meant it could still be developed. Couldn't it? This didn't seal her fate… right?

"Hermione, are you alright?" Dumbledore's concerned words cut into her thoughts. Her eyes refocused on him, a new wave of panic crashing down upon her.

"Sir…" she started, struggling to keep her voice even. "That doesn't necessarily mean the end of it, does it?" she asked hopefully. "What I mean to say is, developments could still be made; the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic is in the business of developing top-secret technologies. How do you know that they've not secretly made developments in time travel? Inferior technology aside, aren't there reversal spells you can perform? You're the greatest wizard alive sir, don't tell me that there is nothing that you can do!" Hermione raised her voice in desperation towards the end of her plea. She had no intention of showing disrespect towards Dumbledore, but her plight was becoming increasingly worse.

"Hermione," Dumbledore began, sighing wearily, "As you surely know, there is a full war being fought between us and Voldemort and his forces."

Hermione nodded solemnly. She hadn't forgotten this fact.

"As such, I do not exaggerate when I say that my name is not unknown at the Ministry of Magic. I have a tightly kept correspondence with them, and we are kept informed of anything remotely pertinent to this war, including all developments at the Department of Mysteries. Their primary focus is to develop weapons to battle Voldemort. Pure research has not been on their agenda for quite some time. As for your latter point, I am indeed flattered. However, you must know that I am not all-powerful. If I were omnipotent, then many of my closest friends would be alive now, Voldemort would not be taking over the free magical world, and muggles and wizards would be square-dancing together in harmony." His last joke brought a meek smile to Hermione's face. "However, there are countless events and spells and problems that are far out of my control. I am sorry, but this is one of them. There _is_ nothing that I can do."

Hermione slid a hand over her mouth and averted her eyes to her knees, hoping to maintain at least some composure. She might not ever see Harry again, she realized. Or Ron. Her parents. Her life would never be normal again. She was stuck here, in the horror of the past, no way out. Of all the cruel, inhuman things Malfoy could have done…

"What do I do, then?" Hermione asked in a timid voice. Would they lock her up, as she was technically a danger to anyone she encountered? Would the next nineteen years of her life be spent in solitary confinement, an exile from the world?

"You continue to live, Hermione." Dumbledore responded simply. "Your situation is unfortunate, but hopefully not so dismal as you believe. You have been dropped into a completely foreign world, but you will simply have to make the best of it. In your heart, I know that you realize that it could be worse."

It could be. This thought had crossed Hermione's mind. She could be dead, injured. There were a thousand things that would be worse than being sent back in time, but Hermione wasn't in a mood to count her blessings. She wanted all of them back.

"I know, sir. I'm lucky to be alive and healthy and in sound mind." She admitted, wringing her hands. "But, how is this going to work? I obviously can't be out in the open; I could risk changing the future. I already have, for all I know! But at the same time, I don't want to be alone for the next nineteen years. Then I might as well be dead!"

"Hermione," Dumbledore said in a calm voice, "you are part of our time now, for better or for worse. As of this moment, only one of you exists, therefore there is no chance that you will sight yourself and fall victim to any number of time warps. I trust as well that you will not take it upon yourself to prevent your own birth, either. You seem to have a full understanding of the risks that exist by your presence here, therefore I assume that you would know the danger involved in discussing future events with anyone, including myself, or, for that matter, revealing in any way that you are from the future. The events of today will be kept between you, myself, and your Head of House, as well as one or two officials in the Department of Mysteries that I trust to be confidential."

"Yes sir." Hermione nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"As such, it is only natural that you will continue your studies here, presumably graduating with this year's class. Ah—before you raise your concerns! You are not, in fact, the first new student to arrive at an awkward time during the year in recent times. Quite a few students have transferred here from Beauxbatons in France for the increased promise of safety; others whose parents have been killed have been sent to relatives who prefer the children to have a Hogwarts education. Unfortunately, your story will have to be a complete fabrication; however, it will not seem out of the ordinary, and you should be accepted among your classmates well. You would be a seventh year Gryffindor…" Dumbledore smiled. "Your housemates will be most interesting, but they will not let the rest of your year pass eventless."

"What sort of fabrication would you approve, sir?" Hermione asked quietly, the corners of her lips turning upward again. Though she was worried sick that Dumbledore could be wrong, and she really could damage the past, the news that he not only had faith in her, but would allow her to continue to be a student here gave her a rush of pure joy and relief. One obstacle down.

"Thankfully, even in this day and age, your housemates will treat you with respect and acknowledge your right to only give them the details that you feel comfortable sharing. Any experience or circumstance that would require you to transfer schools mid-year during these times would be enough for you to keep secret, if that is your desire. The simplest explanation, which would allow you to retain the most privacy, unfortunately, would be to say that your parents were killed by Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters."

As ridiculous as it sounded, Hermione knew he was right; if anyone asked about it, she could easily say she didn't feel like discussing what had happened. It would be the biggest lie she had ever told, but if she had been able to hide her Time-Turner for a year when she was thirteen, Hermione felt fairly confident she could pull this off. After all, everything depended on it…

"I think I could do it, sir." Hermione said after a moment. "What school did I attend before Hogwarts?"

"Well, Hermione, it would make the most sense to say that you simply transferred from a smaller private wizarding academy, such as Macabex, which isn't too far away from here. You wouldn't have to fake an accent, which would certainly be a plus."

"That sounds good, sir." Hermione nodded, swallowing. "One other thought, however… I would like it very much if I could keep my bloodline, that my parents are muggles. If I lied about my parents, not only would I be lying about my entire life, but also there would be a greater chance that I would slip up."

"You may, Hermione." Dumbledore agreed. "That will be the story I give to the staff. Now, I'm going to give you a fair amount of homework to complete over the weekend."

"Oh?" Hermione sat up a little straighter at the mention of homework.

Dumbledore stood, and walked over to a very large wooden filing cabinet in the back of the room that Hermione had never noticed before. Indeed, it was the oddest filing cabinet she had ever seen, for it had drawers on each of its four sides, of varying lengths and heights. However, far from being bulky, the mahogany cabinet was quite slim, and looked as if each drawer could only perhaps be a foot in length. However, when Dumbledore pulled out one drawer, it extended three feet outward before he stopped it and began extracting papers.

Hermione watched as Dumbledore removed stacks of newspapers at a time, piling them in stacks on the table next to him. From another drawer he plucked glossy magazines, piling them onto the table as well. Humming a tune unknown to her, the Headmaster pulled open another smaller drawer, and made a stack of small booklets. Once he was finished, Dumbledore turned to the newspapers, and picked them up one at a time. To Hermione's amusement, she saw that once he had plucked all of the newspapers from the desk, he was indeed only holding one in his hand.

Dumbledore repeated the action with the next stack of newspapers, and then again with the magazines. Stacking them one atop the other, he put the full stack of booklets on top of the rest of the material and walked them over to Hermione.

"This," he said, handing her the first newspaper, "is three months worth of The Daily Prophet. I have no doubt that you already know a great deal about this time period from your future studies, but you will need to have a basic understanding of day-to-day events as well. This newspaper highlights the last three months of the muggle news, which is less important, but nonetheless significant. Here is a six months worth of Witch Weekly, as I'm sure you might stumble upon some Hogwarts females discussing the latest fashions. Lastly, here are order forms for the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. I have no doubt you will need quite a few items from these."

Hermione, who had previously been engrossed in the front pages of the newspapers presented to her, snapped her head up sharply as Dumbledore presented her with the catalogues. Her mouth went dry as she took them into her hands, nervousness creeping back into her stomach.

"S-sir, my account at Gringott's won't exist for another thirteen years; how am I to pay?" she asked meekly, thumbing the cover of Madame Malkin's catalogue.

"Hermione, don't worry about the cost. Hogwarts is far from destitute; there are funds set up for emergencies. Go wild and order ten of everything in each catalogue, and you would still barely make a dent."

Hermione scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably; she was still not keen on the idea of spending so much of the school's money. Even her necessities would likely cost a fortune…

"How about this," Dumbledore offered, sensing her unease. "Hogwarts will pay now for whatever you buy, and in twenty years it will be billed to the account of the person that caused your situation. Plus interest."

After a moment, Hermione smiled, now feeling a little better about buying new sets of robes. Interest over a space of twenty years would cause a dent in Draco Malfoy's gold pit at Gringott's, which was likely measly in comparison to that of Hogwarts.

"That's a good plan, Professor." She said, straightening everything in her lap. "Thank you for the reading material, I'll try to have it finished by Monday."

"A lofty goal, Miss Granger." Dumbledore chuckled. "Do complete the forms first and drop them by my office anytime so that you can have any supplies you need as quickly as possible. I suppose I don't need to tell you the password?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "No, sir."

"Ah, very well, then. Well, I believe our next step would be to contact your Head of House, Professor McGonagall. She will go over your course schedule and have you placed in the appropriate classes, and work out all of your other arrangements."

"Okay." Hermione nodded.

"Unfortunately, Hermione," Dumbledore continued, frowning slightly, "your Head Girl badge will need to be removed before you leave my office, and not come back into sight during your stay at Hogwarts."

"Oh." Hermione exhaled quietly, looking down at the small metal pin in the shape of a Hogwarts seal that bore the inscription _Head Girl,_ now reflecting the ample light in Dumbledore's office. Hermione was immensely proud of the badge; for her it represented seven years of hard work and dedication, welded into a sickle-sized button. With a heavy heart, she removed the pin from her robe, clasping the cool metal in her hand.

"May I at least keep it, sir?" She asked, looking up into Dumbledore's eyes.

"Of course." Dumbledore nodded deeply. "As long as no one else sees it, you may keep it in your possession."

Nodding silently, Hermione slipped the badge into her pocket. She couldn't help but feel as if she were stowing a part of herself away, already putting up the façade of being a different Hermione Granger. The Hermione Granger who would not be Head Girl, the Hermione that would be new, foreign, and frightened. As the pin tumbled into the deep pockets of her robe, Hermione knew that this was her final moment as herself, the last moment she would have before she would have to become the Hermione of the past, the Hermione whose parents were killed by Voldemort, the Hermione who knew 1997 only as a year in the distant future.

"I believe it is time to pay Professor McGonagall a visit," Dumbledore said gently. "Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, and looked up at Dumbledore steadily, withdrawing her hand from her robes. "Yes sir, I am."


	7. The Loss

As the sun's last golden rays sank from the twilight sky, already dotted with bright, shining stars that managed to shine in the splotches of sky that were not covered by lingering rain clouds, the curfew bells of Hogwarts sent a resonating tone through the halls and fields. The deep resonation penetrated every square foot of the grounds, giving students a final warning to be inside before dark.

Beyond the castle, the lake, and Hagrid's modest hut, two solitary silhouettes still flitted about the Quidditch field, chasing after the round objects that struggled to evade their grasp. As the somber bell tolled, the figures sped up ever so slightly, seemingly more anxious to capture their goals. One made a remarkably steep dive, reaching for a barely discernable object in the twilight of the evening. Just as it seemed the person would crash, the fist suddenly closed, the broom was pulled up, and the figure landed smoothly on the soft grass of the Quidditch field. It looked up, shouting something indiscernible to its lone partner in the air.

As the remaining ball hurled itself to one of the golden hoops that still shimmered, reflecting the last light of the evening, the person in the air suddenly let go of the broom with half of its upper body, keeping hold of the handle with its left arm, while it extended the right downwards. The ball landed smoothly in the outstretched arm, causing the individual on the field below to expel a loud cry of happiness, jumping and clapping. Carefully, the second person descended, and together the two slung their brooms over their shoulders and proceeded to open a large trunk. They seemed to talk animatedly while putting their gear away.

Now, as the darkness slowly settled across the grounds, a third figure could be seen walking across the field, approaching the Quidditch pitch. Obviously female, her silhouette was thin and angular, drawing the eye upward to the witch's hat that sat atop her head. She walked briskly to the two other figures, and seemed to catch them by surprise with their presence. One made multiple hand gestures, pointing to the hoops, then the Quidditch trunk, shaking his head. The other stood taller, talking calmly and occasionally referencing the field with a nod of his head. Finally, the witch shook her head and waved her hand at them, proceeding to talk without interruption. While she spoke, the two figures that looked nearly identical in the moonlight with their brooms and Quidditch cloaks, exchanged several glances, folding their arms. When the taller woman finished, she turned on her heel and began walking back towards the castle, with the other two in tow.

Together, the three took the shortest route to the castle, entering into the North Tower. As the light from the building washed over them, it revealed their features. The woman, walking quickly, was quite older, with square monocles sitting on a small, thin nose. Her dark hair, streaked through with gray, was pulled into a sleek bun, nearly hidden by her hat. Her robes were of a deep emerald color, reaching down to her pointed and heeled black shoes. She gave an unmistakable aura of authority and strength.

Behind her, the two other figures were revealed to be older teenagers, in the prime of their young adulthood. On the left was a thin, lanky young man with tousled red hair, a massive amount of freckles splashed about his red cheeks, and brown eyes that occasionally flickered towards his partner, obviously wondering what was going on. Like the boy walking next to him, he wore muddied and grass-stained crimson Quidditch robes, still complete with the sturdy gloves and kneepads. The broom he carried nonchalantly had seen better days, but it served its purpose well, and was suited to its owner.

Walking next to him, the other boy was a good three inches shorter than his friend, and while thin, he was much more solid. His dark brown hair was a complete mess over his head, sticking out in patches in every direction it could find. He, too, had a face smudged with dirt, but the dirt failed to cover the thin, jagged scar on his forehead and the piercing green eyes that shone through his round glasses. His usual, winning smile was nowhere to be found as he followed behind his teacher. His grip on his broom, a sleek, expensive-looking model, was tighter than necessary.

The three walked in this order in silence down the hallway, until they finally arrived at the last door on the right. The older witch uttered one word, and the door opened gently. She walked in, and the teens followed.

Inside, the room was quaintly furnished; there were multiple bookshelves lining the stone walls, and torches were placed intermittently throughout the room. On the right wall was a roaring fireplace, and on the mantle atop it stood several trophies. The cold stone floor was covered with a large scarlet Persian rug that occupied most of the room. In the center of the room was a large desk, covered with neat piles of papers and various paperweights and tins. Next to the desk was a small wooden waste bin, empty but for a few crumpled papers. Behind the desk was a rather plush chair, and two simple polished wooden armchairs in front of it.

The woman walked straight to the padded chair behind her desk and sat down, immediately motioning for the two others to take a seat in the two other chairs. Tentatively, they did so, placing their brooms to rest against the desk. The Professor picked up a small metal tin and opened it, revealing a quantity of chocolate squares. She held it out to the two boys, who graciously refused with a wave of their hands. Shaking her head, she held out the tin further, shaking it slightly. Each boy smiled and took a piece, and sat back while they munched them.

The boy with the glasses sat straighter and asked the woman a question, concern written across his face. Slowly, the teacher closed the tin of chocolate and set it back in its place. Not saying anything for a moment, she folded her hands in front of her and began to speak.

As she began, the boy with the glasses paid attention, while the other seemed to half-listen, staring at his chocolate while she spoke, occasionally glancing up at her. After a moment, however, both pairs of eyes were trained on her, chocolate forgotten. Both of the teens' jaws were clenched tightly, their cheeks growing redder by the moment. The boy with the darker hair began breathing deeply, the other clutched his chocolate so tightly it began to crumble, and began gritting his teeth.

As McGonagall continued to speak for the next few minutes, however, the color slowly drained from their faces, and far from clenching what they were holding, the boys' muscles relaxed in disbelief, their jaws falling away from their mouths gently, their breaths growing shallower. The red-haired boy continually shook his head, and interrupted the woman, tears welling up in his eyes. The Professor broke eye contact with him and shook her head slowly, and began to speak further. The other teen removed his glasses and buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.

After a moment of complete silence, the redhead lifted his red eyes to the teacher's, and with a trembling lip, asked her another question. To this, she again shook her head slowly, uttering a single word.

As tears fell from the boy's eyes, he began taking deep, shuddering breaths, and holding his hand over his open mouth. Quite suddenly, his eyelids fluttered quickly, and he made a quick bolt for the waste bin by the desk, and vomited into it. He remained there for a moment, breathing raggedly into the small wooden receptacle, before rocking back on his knees and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. By that time, the teacher was kneeling at his side, forcing more chocolate into his fist. The other boy still remained in his chair, his face firmly buried in his hands, body trembling. Everything remained still for a moment, as the news sank into the two men. The boy in the chair finally lifted his face, and cast a weary glance with his reddened eyes at his friend, who was still staring in horror at the floor, his chocolate melting in his tight fist. The teacher lay a hand on his shoulder, urging him to eat the chocolate, but he didn't respond, lost in the nightmare of his mind.

Finally, the boy with the glasses stood and wiped his eyes before collecting both of the brooms and slinging them over his back. He crossed over to his friend, and with the help of the professor, helped the boy to his feet, slinging one of the trembling white arms around his neck for support. He talked to the teacher for a moment, nodding intermittently between speaking. He then turned and guided himself and the redheaded boy out of the room, closing the door behind them softly.

When she was sure they were gone, the Professor sat at her desk, and opened a drawer with an imperceptibly quivering hand. From it, she pulled a single tissue, and held it to her eyelids firmly, her shoulders beginning to tremble.


	8. How Do You Do?

In the next three hours Hermione spent in McGonagall's office, she quickly learned the detailed intricacies of the Hogwarts educational system, gaining a renewed respect for McGonagall's work. However, before they began to pore over Hermione's new record, McGonagall brought up a point Hermione hadn't even considered: her name. 

"While your name may not be an issue today, it presents a very distinct danger in the future." McGonagall had told her matter-of-factly. "Chances are, no one will remember a temporary student twenty years from now, but the possibility does exist."

Hermione's stomach had turned. She had already lost so much of her identity - her environment, her head girl badge, the people she knew, now her _name_? She sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to rationalize what McGonagall was saying.

"I understand the gravity of this situation very much, Professor," she had spoken at last, "and I'll consent to what you're saying.. but can I please at least keep my first name? I want to try and retain as much of my identity as possible..."

"'Hermione' is an unusual first name, but I will permit it." McGonagall said with a small nod, though her lips pursed. "In any event, it is your last name that must be changed. Obviously, Dumbledore will be working as much as possible with the Ministry to seek a solution to your predicament, but in the event that one cannot be found, you will need to carry on life in this era as a different person. If there would come a time that you reach the year of your birth, the year of your entrance to Hogwarts, it would be highly unadvisable for you to coexist as two people with the same identity."

Hermione had not yet had the time to let herself imagine such a terrible possibility, of seeing herself grow up into a teenager as she reached middle age, to live her life years from then counting down each day towards the inevitable event that would seal her eighteen year old fate...

"You're entirely right, Professor," she had agreed after a moment of thought. "We do need to change my last name. What will it be?"

"I would suggest a surname that is rather common. Would you be comfortable with Harris? It's an old British surname, fairly common."

"That's fine." Hermione mentally rolled her new name around in her head -- she disliked the alliteration, but it did have a ring to it. "Hopefully I won't have to use it for long."

McGonagall hesitated. "Right. Now, I'm using this name on all of your documents from this point onward. I would advise you to practice your last name often from here on out to avoid any potential slip-ups."

"Yes ma'am." she nodded. The name was so foreign to her, she could hardly fathom introducing herself like this, writing that new name down on papers. _Hermione Harris. Hermione Ann Harris._ The possibility existed that she would have to use this name for the rest of her life, leaving Granger behind for good... she tried not to think about this just yet, and turned her attention back to Professor McGonagall.

Together, they created a new schedule based on Hermione's 1998 classes, which was very similar in almost every regard. Luckily, there were open spaces in each of the classes. However, what disappointed her the most was when McGonagall gave her a stack of course books which to Hermione, were twenty years out of date. Hesitantly, she thumbed through each of them curiously while McGonagall finished up the paperwork on her courses. They weren't _that _different, she supposed, but they were considerably thinner than her old books, with fewer chapters and a bit less information.

"Professor," she asked hesitantly, after McGonagall had sealed the last folder, "would it be possible for me to perhaps keep my old textbooks, just for reading? I wouldn't use them on homework, obviously--"

"No." McGonagall gave her answer with a finality that told Hermione that it would be pointless to argue. "I'm sorry, but it's just too dangerous, Miss Harris. You'll be living in a dorm with three other girls, and while none of them are nosey, I can't risk anyone happening upon your textbooks. You will have to leave them in my care. I will put your possessions in storage, where they will be completely safe, I assure you."

"Okay." Hermione sighed in defeat and pulled out her old textbooks, placing them on McGonagall's desk, along with her Arithmancy and History of Magic folders.

McGonagall handed back the folders without opening them. "You may keep these, so long as you go through them and pull out anything relating to a time after 1979.

This was not a difficult task for Hermione, as she had her notes memorized, almost down to the precise wording. Swiftly, she plucked out the last twenty-five pages of her notes from her History folder (they covered the fall of the Dark Lord), and five pages from the middle of her Arithmancy notebook (concerning the 1992 archeological findings that proved that the practice of Arithmancy went back centuries further than previously suggested).

"If that's all," McGonagall took the books and placed them in a deep desk drawer before closing and locking it, "I'd like to take you to meet your new housemates. You'll be introduced by the Headmaster to the entire school during dinner, but it would be appropriate to meet your fellow Gryffindor seventh years before that."

"Sounds good." Hermione said nervously, her stomach twinging at the thought of Dumbledore announcing her presence to the entire school. It would practically be an open invitation for Slytherins to come after her...

"There are three other girls and four boys in your house and year. The men have a tendency to be extremely immature, but I can assure you that they will watch out for you, and they will all be more than willing to help you in any fashion while you are here." McGonagall said as they began to leave her office, as if reading Hermione's concerns as she thought them.

"Where are we going, Professor?" Hermione asked as they walked. "The common room was down that other hallway."

"The Quidditch Pitch. I believe that is where the seven of them spend most of their evenings. The boys are all on the Quidditch team, most of them are quite good. Gryffindor has had a solid winning streak since they started playing in their third year..."

With a faint smile, Hermione remembered McGonagall's penchant for Quidditch. As they left the building and began walking across the field, Hermione saw that dusk was drawing upon the sky. Looking up, she saw three small silhouettes of figures flitting around the Quidditch field, near the outlines of the round hoops in the star-scattered sky. She squinted, trying to get a better view of these figures who she would come to know in just minutes. She did wonder if she would meet anyone here that she would already know in the future, but she hadn't allowed herself to do any math in her head with years...

"Tomorrow is Saturday." McGonagall stated. Hermione blinked - of course it would be a different day of the week than when she left her own time. It hadn't occurred to her to ask anyone what day it was. "You should meet with Dumbledore or myself tomorrow to tie up any loose ends that we perhaps did not cover today. I'll arrange to have robes sent to your dormitory until you are able to order some express from Madam Malkin's, as well as any toiletries you may need."

"Thank you very much," Hermione said gratefully, thankful that all of her needs would be indeed taken care of.

They approached the Quidditch stands, which were cast with a purplish-blue hue as the sun set in the sky. Hermione saw three figures far off in Section F, and followed McGonagall as she began to approach them. Hermione's nervousness grew as she treaded from the clean-smelling soft green grass onto the hard concrete floor of the Quidditch stadium which echoed their footsteps, coming closer to her new life with every single step. Quickly, they walked past the empty stands of Section A, then B...

Hermione looked around in brief awe as they walked, trying to keep in mind that she was indeed in a different _time_. It was still difficult to fathom, because everything just looked the same. Perhaps the wood of the benches were slightly more polished, and some of the trees were ever so slightly shorter than she remembered, but perhaps it was just her imagination.. She looked up as she heard shouts in the field, and saw more clearly what the three figures were doing. Two were obviously chasers, passing the Quaffle back and forth to each other as they swooped down the field. They finished by throwing their Quaffle towards the tall hoops at the end of the field, testing new strategies and moves. The third figure sat near the goal hoops, trying unsuccessfully to catch each of their throws.With a slight pang, Hermione realized that she had casually glanced upwards for a sign of Harry madly dashing around the pitch for the elusive Snitch, or perhaps Ron, circling lazily around the three hoops while another Chaser tossed a Quaffle in his direction...

_Foolish_, she frowned to herself, _concentrate on the present, what's happening now! Worrying about what should be won't solve the problem..._

Hermione followed McGonagall as the professor began ascending the steps that led up to Section F. Their heels clicked against each of the hard cement steps, resonating through the empty stadium. Three girls sat in the upper rows; they were obviously no longer gazing upon the practice, but instead were intently watching McGonagall as she approached with her stranger in tow. As they drew near, Hermione did her best to avoid meeting their stares while looking directly at them.

They were all very pretty, she thought; the one sitting closest to the aisle was a brunette, with curly hair that fell to her shoulders in a thick mass of ringlets. She had high cheekbones, thick eyelashes, and smoothly curved eyebrows. Her thin nose, which was set between pink cheeks that bore freckles visible even in the twilight, descended into a full pair of lips, which smiled gently as Hermione neared. Her hands were clasped in her lap as she leaned forward, her legs tucked under bleacher.

Next to her was a girl with equally curly pale blonde hair, though hers looked to be a bit more crimped, and pulled back loosely away from her neck, which drew Hermione's eyes immediately to a pair of earrings in the shape of miniature potion flasks that seemed to contain a liquid that was a radioactive shade of violet. Her skin, which was shockingly pale in the light of dusk, was smooth and flawless. Her face was framed in curly tendrils of her light hair, bordering her pale blue eyes that were paired with dark eyelashes. As she blinked, Hermione saw that she wore bright lavender eye shadow that complimented her outrageous earrings. Her cheeks and lips were both a pale pink, giving her a soft and markedly unique appearance.

The third girl was the most distinctive of the three, Hermione thought, just by her natural appearance. She too had a creamy, pale complexion, with a small nose, and a graceful jaw, all around which was a streaming flow of brilliant red hair. Something about her looked familiar; she almost wondered if this girl was a relative of the Weasleys, until their eyes met.

Hermione could not help it - she gave an involuntary shudder and a small gasp. The girl's vivid, painfully emerald eyes stared straight through her, so that all thought in her head vanished without warning, replaced by the single, powerful recognition of Harry's eyes. This was Lily Potter, she realized as she gazed upon her, her expression melting away from impassiveness to horror. She was about to meet Harry's mother, the woman who, in just a few short years, would save the world…

McGonagall cleared her throat, snapping Hermione to attention. She swallowed and broke her gaze away quickly, though she could still feel Lily's gaze lingering on her face. Hermione forced herself to stare at McGonagall now instead. With effort, she tried to stop herself from speculating - _If Lily was here, then that could only mean…_

"Girls," McGonagall greeted them briskly, "we now have a new student at Hogwarts. I would like you to meet your new classmate and dorm-mate, Hermione Harris. She is a Gryffindor seventh year as well, and will be spending the remainder of the term in our company."

"Oh wow," the blondegirl in the middle blurted out, glancing from Hermione to McGonagall and back, causing the potion in her earrings to slosh around within its flasks. "We- we've never had a new student before!"

"Yes, well," McGonagall cleared her throat, "in these times…"

"…Most parents are wanting their children out of Hogwarts." the brunette on the end murmured, finishing McGonagall's sentence. "Yet you're coming in. At least someone's got their head in the right place, eh?"

McGonagall sighed, but Hermione noticed that the corners of her lips turned upwards ever so slightly. "Hermione, this would be Katherine Black."

"Pleased to meet you." Katherine stuck out her hand and shook Hermione's. Hermione smiled at her, immediately wondering if her last name was related to the other Black she knew.

"I'm Ella Cleary," the blonde girl introduced herself as McGonagall opened her mouth. "You'll love Hogwarts!"

"I'm sure I will." Hermione smiled and shook her hand lightly.

"And our Head Girl--"

"Lily Evans."

Lily spoke for the first time, smiling genuinely and reaching out to take Hermione's hand. Hermione shook hers as well, trying to appear as natural as she could, quelling her excitement that she was shaking _her _hand…

"As Professor McGonagall said, I'm Head Girl, so I'll be more than delighted to show you around and make sure you've got everything in order. Really, it's such a great school - you couldn't have come to a better place."

"Thank you so much," Hermione said breathlessly, almost forgetting to let go of Lily's cool hand. "I really am looking forward to this, it's such a very nice castle…"

Internally, Hermione cringed - what an idiotic thing to say! She was trying desperately - too hard - to sound like a new person who had never seen the school before.

"Right you are!" a masculine voice called behind them.

Hermione whirled around, startled, to be faced with three boys who were quickly approaching them up the steps, their broomsticks slung casually over their back. Even as Hermione turned, she knew what her eyes immediately confirmed: two men that were tall and strapping, and a third that was short and anything but fit and atheletic.

"So, who's this, then?" The taller boy said cheerfully. Hermione hesitated to meet his dark eyes, which contained a spark of amusement above a wry smile. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was straight and reached his chin.

Hermione cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but McGonagall intercepted.

"Black, this is Hermione Harris, our new student. She will be spending the remainder of the year at Hogwarts--"

"New student?" The boy to Black's left asked. Hermione's eyes traveled to him, and immediately she felt as though she were going to be sick. The sense of recognition she felt when she saw Lily had increased tenfold, as she stared at what looked to be a carbon-copy of Harry.

He had the same messy hair that flew in every which direction as though shocked by a backfired spell, the same strong jaw, sharp nose, and high cheekbokes underneath a thin face. His eyes were dark, which was the one difference that proved to Hermione that she really wasn't looking into the face of her best friend.

"Hah, this is awesome!" the pudgy boy to the far left exclaimed. "What brings you to Hogwarts?"

Hermione did not answer immediately, as she gazed coolly upon the round, rodent-like face of Peter Pettigrew. She was overcome with a sense of deepest loathing, as her eyes penetrated his small, beady ones, as if to somehow curse him out of existence with a single look. His dirty blonde hair hung limply down his forehead, falling a bit past his eyebrows which quickly furrowed in confusion. He blinked, once again crashing Hermione back into reality.

She realized that she had no idea how long she had been glowering down at the boy, but she quickly cleared her throat and spoke, coming up with a quick answer on the spot.

"An unexpected-- I--" she swallowed, hoping she appeared as though she was trying hard to compose herself, remembering what Dumbledore had stated about only needing to reveal minimal details of her past. Hermione stared hard at her feet and blinked rapidly. "I transferred."

"Pettigrew," McGonagall snapped, obviously annoyed, "Miss Harris has a right to her privacy, and I would greatly appreciate you not trying to pry into her personal matters."

"I- but--" Peter looked utterly lost, obviously not seeing any error in his honest question.

"From left to right, Miss Harris, this is James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew."

"How do you do," Hermione brought a smile to her face as they each took her trembling hand in turn and shook it gently.

"James is Head Boy, so if there is anything that you need, he will also be able to assist you during your time here." McGonagall continued, before directing her attention to the other students. "Now, I told Harris that she would be made more than welcome here at Hogwarts. So help me, if I hear one report of hazing--"

"Professor!" James laughed, cutting her off. "Herm- Herr.. _Harris_, is one of us, we'd never do anything to scare you off!" He winked at Hermione, who couldn't help but smile faintly. "As long as you don't get offended by a few wet-start fireworks in the loo occasionally--"

"Potter!"

Hermione chuckled, and was suddenly reminded of the Weasley twins.

"Dinner starts in ten minutes, I expect you boys to wash up and be on time." McGonagall said sternly. "Hermione, I will leave you here. If you need anything, and I do mean _anything_," she emphasized, giving her a meaningful look, "you know where my office is."

With that, McGonagall turned and retreated quickly, leaving Hermione alone for the first time with her new classmates.

* * *

A/N: Reviews make me dance and sing. 


	9. Acceptance

After McGonagall left, an awkward silence fell over the group. Hermione shifted in place uncomfortably as she felt their eyes scrutinizing her, examining every detail. As embarrassed as she felt in her situation, Hermione couldn't blame them for not immediately jumping in to talk to her - how would she have felt if a strange new student had been shoved into her social circle two months before graduation? She wanted to say something, but how could she begin to even think… 

"This is so exciting!" Ella suddenly exclaimed, beaming at her. Hermione sighed in relief, immensely grateful that the thickness that was enveloping her chest had just lifted. "I mean, you're probably a little less enthusiastic about switching schools and changing your life completely and all that, but at least rest knowing that you couldn't have possibly been stuck with a better group than us! Aside from the guys and their absolutely idiotic pranks-"

"Idiotic to some, pure genius to others," Sirius winked at Hermione. He repositioned his broom over his shoulder. "At the very least, you could never claim us to be dull. We're going to go get changed, so we'll see you at dinner."

"Alright." Hermione smiled and watched the three boys turn and recede back into the Quidditch pitch, making their way to the locker rooms. Their shadowy forms grew fainter in the twilight, finally disappearing. Hermione suddenly shivered and rubbed her arms to warm herself. Not noticing, Katherine, Ella, and Lily stood, beginning to edge out of their row as they collected their book bags.

"We might as well go straight to the Great Hall," Lily said to everyone in general, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "The boys will be late, but we'll want to make sure Hermione's there early."

"Er, thanks.." Hermione said, suddenly envisioning Lily as an adult leading a small child. She let the other girls lead the way out of the Quidditch stands, careful not to act as though she already knew her way to the castle blindfolded. While they walked, Lily gave her continuous commentary that Hermione recognized with a terrible thrill as text from "Hogwarts, A History".

"As you may or may not have been told, Hogwarts is home to some of the tightest security measures in wizarding kingdom. All entrances and exits to the castle are carefully guarded with a variety of spells and enchantments. Apparating or Disapparating on or off of Hogwarts grounds is impossible, so we're quite impervious to any outside attacks." Lily explained as they crossed the dewy grass between the field and the castle. "In fact, the Ministry just published a report two years ago that listed Hogwarts' security as being the best in Europe – it even outranked Gringott's!"

"That's very nice to know," Hermione responded. "Especially in times like these, the extra security and peace of mind must be nice to have."

"Yeah, well." Katherine shrugged. "Every week or so the Daily Prophet tries to point out ways that Death Eaters could try to enter Hogwarts, suggesting that the security isn't tight enough as it is…"

"They say we should have additional outside security," Ella snorted. "Dementors or something. This one idiotic tabloid recommended them. Ridiculous, I say. Dumbledore's the greatest wizard alive, if anyone is going to keep our school safe, it's not going to be any ruddy dementors."

"My _point _was, you've got nothing to worry yourself about, Hermione." Lily concluded. "Once we all graduate Hogwarts it'll be a different story, but while you're here you can at least sleep reasonably soundly at night. Now, up here on your right is the lake, it contains a Giant Squid." Not seeing the lack of surprise on Hermione's face behind her, she continued, "Don't listen to the boys if they tell you it eats people – that's how they like to frighten the first years – but just don't get your feet too far into the water."

"I'll keep that in mind.." Hermione said absently, looking around for any sign of difference with the little visibility she had left as night descended around them. She breathed in the cool air, inhaling the fresh scent of the damp grass and leaves. Various windows of the castle shone golden yellow light out into the night, illuminating it against the landscape. For a moment, Hermione felt grateful that even if she was sent back in time, she was still at a place she could comfortably call home.

"You can't see it properly from here, but around on the other side of the castle is the Forbidden Forest." Lily continued. "It's the one part of Hogwarts that's really dangerous, you'll never want to go in there if you can help it. A pack of centaurs lives in there, as well as a few wolves, thestrals, unicorns-- Oh, the Whomping Willow is over there too! Yes, you'll definitely want to avoid that, it nearly took out this Hufflepuff's eye a few years back…"

Hermione wistfully remembered the time she had ventured into the Whomping Willow with Harry to rescue Ron. It had been the first time they'd met Sirius, the night they'd learned of Peter Pettigrew's betrayal… She forced these thoughts out of her mind and focused her attention back on Lily's rambling speeches.

"…find that you'll get lost quite a bit at first, and the staircases revolve regularly, but within a couple weeks you should be able to get a general idea of where everything is. Of course, we'll all be at your beck and call if you ever need anything--"

"For goodness sake, Lils," Ella cut in, "give the poor girl's ear a rest! She's still got plenty of time to learn every single detail about Hogwarts!"

"Alright, alright!" Lily threw her hands up jokingly as they walked up the steps that led to the massive oak doors. "It's just in through here, and the Gryffindor table will be on the far end of the room."

They entered the familiar entrance hall, and looking around, Hermione saw that it would barely change an iota twenty years hence. The stone walls were still brightly lit by the flame of a great many torches that spanned the walls, all surrounding a ceiling that was barely visible from the floor. The grand marble staircase spiraled a few feet ahead, looking as bright and inviting as it was to be in Hermione's Hogwarts career. They turned right past two well-polished suits of armor, which silently turned their heads in Hermione's direction as they passed. Lily opened one of the double-doors that led into the Great Hall and the three other girls followed her in.

As Hermione was ushered into the Great Hall, she craned her neck to take in every detail she could as they quickly made their way across the hall to Gryffindor's table. She noted that the decorations in the Hall were rather muted; there were House banners hanging over the four tables, the same banners she'd known in her own day, and the everlasting candles overhead. What made Hermione feel completely out of place was that she recognized _no one_ as her eyes swept over the tables. It sent goose bumps up her arms to be in such a familiar place, yet surrounded by complete strangers…

Lily led them to the far wall, where they turned and walked up the massive wooden table to the empty patch of bench that seemed to be reserved for the seventh years. Hermione felt stares on her face as they walked, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, not looking around until they took their seats. Katherine sat next to Hermione on one side, Lily on the other. Ella slid in next to Lily, absentmindedly drumming her lavender fingernails on the crisp white tablecloth.

Hermione continued to gaze around, until her eyes focused on the Head Table, where she saw that both Dumbledore and McGonagall were looking in her direction. She smiled slightly at them, as if to say, _It's okay, I've not wrecked the past just yet_. Dumbledore gave her a nod, while McGonagall straightened, took hold of her spoon, tapping it gently against her glass, sending a resonating tinkling through the Hall. The Hall fell silent almost immediately, all eyes on Dumbledore. Hermione's stomach did an Olympic gymnastics routine, flipping and rolling spectacularly a few times before settling somewhere around her knees. Silently, she willed Dumbledore to speak about forbidden dung bombs, or Apparition schedulings, or…

"Good evening, Hogwarts students!" Dumbledore addressed his student body cheerfully. "I know you are all anxious to tuck in, as am I, but before we stuff our faces, we have a new person to welcome to the Hogwarts family."

Hermione whimpered slightly and flushed - this was _not_ necessary…

"We have a new student, she is wonderful, intelligent, and ever so charming!" Dumbledore exclaimed, raising his hands. "Hermione is a seventh year Gryffindor; she will be attending Hogwarts for the remainder of the school year. She is one of our own, and will be treated as such. Now, let us give her a warm round of applause to welcome her into our school -- a little public humiliation is a rite of passage." He added with a wink.

At this, the Hall filled with applause, the loudest of which came from Gryffindor table. Hermione groaned, unable to remember a time in which she felt more embarrassed as hundreds of faces were now staring intently at her, dying to get a glimpse of the new girl. Lily laughed and shook her shoulder as the applause quickly died down and food appeared before them.

"See, you're already welcome here!" she exclaimed, heaping mashed potatoes on her plate. "It's a very closely knit community--"

"Tell her about Slytherin." Katherine remarked boredly, filling her cup with pumpkin juice from a sweating silver pitcher.

"Oh. Well, I was going to wait to—" Lily began, suddenly looking flustered, but before she could finish, James, Sirius, and Peter made their entrance and heavily flounced down into the bench across from the four girls, causing the plates to rattle slightly.

"'ello, 'ermione," Sirius greeted her in a highly realistic Cockney accent. "And the rest of yeh.."

"What're you on about now, Lils?" James asked, taking the mashed potatoes from her. Peter eagerly took a large spoonful from the plate and dolloped it onto his own.

"She was just about to warn Hermione about Slytherin." Katherine said, before taking a bite of asparagus. "It's better to tell her now, Lily, before she gets hexed in the hallway.."

"They do that a lot!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

Lily grew red and sputtered, but James cut her off casually. "K is right, you might as well know now. Dumbledore may have explained to you that each of the four houses has a particular strength that their students exemplify? Gryffindor is bravery, Hufflepuff is loyalty and hard work, Ravenclaw is smarts, and Slytherins pride themselves on being sneaky, low-down, cheating--"  
"James!" Lily admonished. "He's exaggerating - _hush, _James! – but do be careful when you're around people in silver and green ties. Many of them have parents who are close with Voldemort and are already in the process of becoming Death Eaters. They'll probably look for any reason to pick on a new Gryffindor."

Hermione's eyes had wandered over to the Slytherin table, and were transfixed on a boy that was staring directly back at her. His dark eyes, narrowed and sullen, met hers over a happenstance gap between three other tables. He had caught her eye because of his overwhelmingly contrasting appearance: his dark eyes and eyebrows stood out starkly against his skin, which looked as papery thin and white as if it had never seen true sunlight. His face was flanked by shoulder-length hair that was jet black and hung limply against his sunken cheeks.

"Severus Snape," Lily murmured into her ear, following her gaze. "Personally, I pity him; he's had a rough life and the boys are just cruel to him. Not that it's not reciprocated, of course, but it's unfortunate. He won't bother you without provocation, but I'd stay clear of him."

"That won't be a problem." Hermione said this earnestly, still staring in shock at the eighteen year old version of her Potions Master, who continued to glare in her direction. She had no real desire to approach him; she doubted he would be any more pleasant now than he would be in twenty years. Still...

"So Hermione, do you like Quidditch?" James asked casually, running his fingers through his hair which managed to somehow make it even messier.

"Well, I think the history of Quidditch is simply fascinating," Hermione answered earnestly, "especially when you examine how much it has developed over the past few centuries, and the influence it's had over so many cultures as it spread--"

"I mean, do you play it?" James interrupted her, smirking.

Hermione blushed and tucked a thick lock of hair behind her ear, embarrassed.

"Er, no.. I don't play Quidditch." She admitted. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't worry about it!" Lily exclaimed. "I can't stand the feeling of being on a broom, it makes me sick to my stomach.

Hermione smiled inwardly, pleased that conversation was flowing smoothly. As she looked around at her new classmates, she realized that they weren't so different from herself -- they were regular teenagers, excited to be almost to the point of graduating Hogwarts and moving on with their lives as much as possible. Still, she felt a strong sense of apprehension when it came to joining in the conversation. She couldn't bring herself to speak to James Potter, or ask Lily Evans about her hobbies. Simply sitting so close to her was making Hermione's chest tighten. She wouldn't dare look Peter Pettigrew in the face.

Hermione was just beginning to feel that it was all too much when her fellow Gryffindors signaled that it was time to leave. They dropped their napkins on their plates and began to put on their book bags; Hermione followed suit. She slowly wiped her mouth with her scarlet cloth napkin and placed it next to her used silverware before standing up to slip her bag over her shoulders. Pleased at her timing, she fell in the back of the group flawlessly as they left the Great Hall.

"It might take you a while to learn your way around, Hermione," Lily said as they climbed the main staircase, "but the castle really isn't so bad once you get used to it."

"Oh, good," Hermione murmured, gazing around the halls that looked identical to the ones she had left. Shaking off a now-familiar feeling of unease, she tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere. Hermione shifted her eyes to her companions as they chatted about the day's classes, citing unfamiliar teachers and classmates. She considered Katherine and Ella for a moment - why had she never heard their names before? Hermione strained to remember old photos of the Order, names that had been dropped in Grimmauld Place when the adults had been reminiscing. It wasn't as if they were exactly ordinary – with Katherine's wild brown curls and Ella's pale hair and outrageous earrings, Hermione felt for sure that she would have noticed them in Moody's pictures. She shook her head internally, unable to place them. With a pang of sympathy, she realized that they probably hadn't survived Voldemort's reign, or else she likely would have met them already.

_Perhaps they just quit_, she thought hopefully, _left and moved to Romania after the fall. Early retirement, quiet life in the country._

Shaking this troublesome line of thought, Hermione examined the backs of those she did know of. James, Lily, Peter, Sirius. Here were the four marauders, at a time when they were living the last weeks of their youth— _wait._ Hermione's train of thought grinded to a halt, her eyebrows crinkling. Of course, how could she be so _daft_? Lily wasn't a marauder, she had forgotten Professor Lupin! She resisted the urge to slap her forehead as she walked behind the group, in disbelief that she could have not noticed his absence until now. What was the phase of the moon? She didn't remember seeing it when she was outside. She wanted desperately to know where he was, as he was the only face among these that was in constant contact with in her own time.

_Well, the only _friendly _face, _she thought, remembering the pallid visage of Severus Snape glowering at her from across the Great Hall.

"…where Moony scampered off to?" Hermione suddenly heard James mutter, his voice nearly masked by the chatter of the girls. Though her head snapped in their direction at the mention of his name, she quickly continued to look around at the walls and ceiling as if something else had caught her attention. The boys appeared not to notice her strange behavior and continued with their conversation, while Hermione's ears strained to hear them.

"I dunno, he should be back by now, I would've thought he'd be at dinner." Sirius answered. "I should've grabbed him something."

"It's alright, I got a few things."

"You sly bastard." Sirius chuckled.

"Okay, the door to the Gryffindor common room is just up ahead, Hermione," Lily broke her conversation with Katherine, turning her head to Hermione. "See the portrait of the fat lady in the pink dress? All you have to do to get in is tell her the password and you're in. Obviously, don't give the password to anyone else that's not in Gryffindor, and though I probably won't change it for the rest of the year, I'll tell you if I do."

"Hey, I can change it too, you know!" James interjected. "But she always changes my passwords."

"Yeah, McGonagall is never very pleased when she has to say 'Death To Slytherins' to get in her house's common room…" Lily sighed as they stopped in front of the familiar portrait of the smiling fat lady.

"Password?" She asked elegantly.

"It's '_Domus dulcis domus_.'" Lily replied smoothly. The fat lady nodded, and the portrait hole swung open. Hermione followed the group in through the hole, curious to see the common room as it was twenty years ago.

As the three boys and girls spread out once they climbed into the portrait hole, Hermione looked around, absorbing every minute difference that this room held over the one so clear in her memory. At first, everything seemed roughly the same - the staircases and fireplace were in the same fixed positions, the rich scarlet Persian rug on the stone floor seemed as lush and vibrant as it would be in her own time, and the common room was still filled with scattered clumps of furniture, making an inviting environment for study or play. As her sharp eyes adjusted to the brighter lighting and scanned the room, she recognized details that would change in the course of the next two decades. The long study tables in the lefthand corner of the room were horizontal in respect to the portrait hole, not vertical. There would be more plush chairs added to the ring surrounding a round gaming table between the stairs, and there was a rip on a particularly worn armchair by the fire that she hadn't remembered existing. A bookcase was also present on the left-hand wall that Hermione knew would be gone in twenty years hence. She could see why - her eye lingered on the pathetic state of the book spines, and several texts seemed to be missing. Another round table surrounded by multiple comfortable chairs was nestled behind the boy's staircase, but Hermione knew that in time it would be replaced in favor of another series of long study tables.

"What do you think?"

Hermione realized that she had been simply standing there gazing about, while the rest of the group was now standing to her side, watching her curiously.

"It's… really great." Hermione smiled. "You're right, it's much different than my old common room."

"It's a great place for homework if you don't feel like making the hike to the library." Katherine commented.

"And it has lots of room for Gobstones!" Peter chimed in enthusiastically. "Have you ever played?"

"Yeah." Hermione cringed inwardly at her aloofness; the person she was playing had no reason to act that way towards Peter. "Um, fun game." She smiled to save face, though she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Yeah, maybe we can play sometime," James said offhandedly, "But for now, where the bloody hell is Moony?"

Hermione felt a large bubble of hope rise in her, inflating her chest and lifting her chin. She tried to stifle a small smile; she could barely contain the enthusiasm of seeing someone she wouldn't feel as uncomfortable around, someone that she would still know as a living person back in her own time…

"Oh right, I almost forgot that Remus wasn't at dinner!" Lily remarked. "Think he'd be back by now?"

"Only one way to check!" Sirius exclaimed, before bounding off towards the fireplace. He leapt gracefully onto the back of a large wing chair that was facing the fire and looked down into the seat. "Oh, he's here," he called.

"Asleep?" Peter asked across the room.

"Does he really know any other state?" Sirius said. "OYE, Moony!"

As Hermione walked with the others to the cluster of chairs around the fireplace, a loud grunt of surprise was heard from within the large wingchair.

"You know, there's more polite ways of waking a person", Hermione heard Lupin grumble. She watched as Sirius, James and Lily sat on the couch next to the wing chair, while Katherine and Peter occupied two of the three remaining chairs left.

"Here, you take this one, Hermione," Ella said kindly, pointing to the large yellow cushiony chair next to Remus'. She turned and flounced on Sirius' lap unannounced, causing him to give a loud fake groan.

"Wait, who?" Remus was still rubbing his eyes and yawning, allowing Hermione to get a decent look at him though his hands obscured most of his face. Hermione smiled softly as he lowered his hands and blinked in her direction as his vision cleared.

"Hermione's a new student, she just arrived this afternoon." Lily explained. "You were probably taking your make-up exam when she got here."

"Right, right," Remus said, still looking at Hermione with reddened eyes. "Yeah, that was an interesting test. Anyway, welcome to Hogwarts, we're glad to have you here. New student, really? How unusual. Weird day, this is."

"Thank you." Hermione shook his outstretched hand. "It's been an odd day for me as well."

"What was so strange about your text, Reems?" James asked, leaning back on the sofa to look at him. "I think that one charm on the last question was completely made up."

"Nah, it wasn't that." Remus yawned, then cleared his throa. "It was hilarious, Pretecos totally busted this girl in the hallway outside my classroom for not having a pass, but she pretended to be temporarily deaf and dodged out of it. I'm almost certain she used the— er, that one closet in the hall." Remus chuckled. "But I didn't recognize her name, probably a lower-classman."

Hermione hesitated for a moment - this could be her ticket into their inner circle. It probably wouldn't win her points with Lily, but if she could get the majority of the group to warm to her, then it would make the rest of the school year pass much more smoothly. Making up her mind quickly, she took a breath and spoke:

"It erm, wasn't an underclassman…" she said sheepishly with a secret smile.

"_You?_" Remus grinned. "Really? That was bloody brilliant! But… why'd you do it?"

"I had just arrived, I didn't really know what was going on or how to get to where I was supposed to be. Didn't want to get detention before I'd even got a housing assignment, right?" She lifted her eyebrows and shrugged.

"Certainly not, and way to think on your feet!" Remus agreed.

"You know, with a little training, she may just be one of us yet." James commented to the group.

"No, no one is getting Hermione into any trouble. Not yet, at least." Lily chided him. "Shame on you, James, as Head Boy and Girl we're supposed to be looking out for her!"

"Alright, alright, Lils, we'll give her the week off." James winked at Hermione, whose cheeks turned pink.

As the topic of conversation drifted to their teachers and coursework that Hermione couldn't yet relate to, her mind drifted as well. By now, it seemed like she had left her own time ages ago, even though it had been merely hours. She knew she would miss everyone terribly in the time to come, but they didn't seem _gone_. It was hard to grasp their absence when she was sitting in their usual spot with figures she knew so well, through photographs and stories or from her own life. It was incredibly eerie, no doubt, looking at Sirius, James, and Lily; it was as if she was staring at ghosts from the past. As she had been for the past hour, she continued to try ignoring Peter's fat amused smile as much as she could. It was also nice seeing Remus, as the one and only person from the circle that was both an ally and living in her own time. His presence was the one comfort of the group; he was the one person who she didn't feel overly weird about being near. She was sure this feeling would pass as she got to know everyone better, however. As the group broke out in a loud laugh at one of James' jokes, Hermione abandoned her dreary train of thought and smiled with them, focusing back on the present. The new present.


	10. Tea and Firewhisky

After what seemed like an hour of staring into the inkwell on his desk, Remus rubbed his eyes, deciding he needed a cup of tea. It was nearing dinnertime, but he had resigned himself to spending the evening in his own quarters. 

He swallowed, unable to break his trance and lift himself up from his sitting position. Something was dragging him down; he felt bound to his chair, as Draco was just a short while ago. Where was Hermione at this moment? Nowhere? Floating in a limbo of time? In the future? Or worse... he refused to think of the worst scenario imaginable. Instead he shook his head and awkwardly forced himself into a standing position, the tips of his fingers still resting on the top of his desk.

Cup. Tea Leaves. Hot Water.

Remus took a deep breath and walked to a cabinet on the back wall of his office. He carefully opened the antique mahogany door, revealing an array of mismatched mugs and teacups next to a jar of leaves and an aged tin teapot. He removed the teapot from the cabinet and set it on the counter.

"_Aqua"_, he mumbled, pointing his wand into the round opening at the top. It began filling with water that poured from the tip of his wand. While the water splashed into the bottom of the pot, he leaned onto the counter, devoid of strength.

Behind Remus, the door of his office flew open. Remus heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching his desk, but he didn't look. He didn't need to.

"Professor Lupin." Harry said breathlessly as he and Ron stopped just short of his desk.

Lupin turned slowly to look at them. He could see from their heavy breaths and flushed cheeks that they had come in a hurry. Though company was the last thing Remus wanted, he had anticipated this. Knowing that he couldn't turn the boys away, he silently filled the teapot to the brim and removed three mugs from his cabinet.

"_Incendio." _ He started a small flame on his mini-stove, setting the teapot to boil. From there he crumpled into his chair, as if that had exerted all of the energy he had left in him.

"Please, sit down." He weakly motioned at the two chairs already in front of his desk.

The two young men complied, each pulling up a chair closer to his desk.

"What can I do for you two gentlemen today?" Remus asked, busying himself with slowly straightening stacks of ungraded papers on his desk.

"We've talked to McGonagall," Ron stated, knowing it was all the explanation they needed to give. He waited for a reaction from Lupin, but his hands only twitched as he adjusted the piles of parchment.

"Have you?" he asked rather stiffly. "Did she send you to me, then?"

"No, but she said you were there," Harry replied, leaning forward. "So now we're here."

His green eyes bored into Remus, scanning his sagging face for every betrayal of emotion, searching for an indication in his drooping eyes that he knew something that they didn't.

Remus looked up at them with a slight lift his eyebrows. "And why is that? Surely if Professor McGonagall told you two anything of interest, she would have told you all that you're to know about it. I'm afraid I won't be of any use to you."

The silence that fell after Remus spoke was suddenly pierced by the scream of the teapot, which began to issue a steady bout of steam. Ron started in his seat and Harry's wand hand clenched reflexively in surprise, but Remus simply excused himself and tended to the pot, grateful for an excuse to turn his back on the situation momentarily. He sighed as he poured hot water into the three mugs. He did not want company…

"How _dare _you?" Ron suddenly burst out angrily. Harry turned quickly, surprised by his friend's outburst. He made a motion for Ron to be quiet, but Ron ignored him. "Hermione is _gone_, and you don't even care. She's not here, and you stand there and make your bloody tea."

Remus set down one of the mugs a bit more forcefully than he intended to; the sound of the porcelain clanking against the counter reverberated through his office. Ron drew a deep breath, knowing he had crossed a line.

"Forget the bloody tea, then." Remus poured each of the three cups into the sink, not minding as some of the boiling water sloshed and hit the floor. He rinsed his with water briefly before opening the cabinet and removing a large glass bottle that was mostly full. If it hadn't been for Harry and Ron's time spent with Mundungus Fletcher, neither of them might have recognized the bottle of inexpensive fire whisky that Remus now began liberally pouring into his cup. After putting the bottle back in the cabinet, he plunked the mug on his desk and took his seat again.

"People deal with grief in different ways, Ron, and you need to accept that." Remus began, staring into his cup. "You need to realize that now, because people are going to start reacting to Hermione's accident very soon and in a variety of manners. Some people will wear their emotions on their sleeves, and some won't. Don't _ever_ presume to know, however, what others are thinking and feeling."

"I'm sorry." Ron murmured, averting his eyes.

"We want to know what happened to her," Harry explained. "She's our best friend, I think we have a right to know where she is and what condition she's in. Ron and I are adults now, and this whole thing of hiding information from us whenever something happens got really old years ago. This is ridiculous, we _need _to know."

Remus took a sip from his cup before speaking. He folded his hands, making it clear that he was choosing his words carefully.

"You mustn't get the impression that we don't trust you or acknowledge the two of you as competent adults. If this were any ordinary situation, the two of you would probably be privy to more information than you're currently being given. However, Dumbledore is insistent that information of this incident be kept on a strictly need-to-know basis, the only legitimate need being to amend the situation. He is working with the proper authorities right now to do just that. Once everything is resolved, perhaps you will receive more information. If… _when_ we see Hermione again, I imagine that she will want to tell you two her experience."

There was a long silence as Harry and Ron absorbed what Lupin had just said. Harry wanted to ask what would happen if Hermione _didn't _come back, but he refused to voice that scenario.

"Do you know what happened to her?" He asked instead.

"I do. Not entirely, though," Remus said after a moment of hesitation. "I only know what I do by circumstance. I doubt I'll find out anything else until everything is fixed. In time, we'll all know more. But for now, we just have to be patient."

Ron snorted. Harry couldn't help but imagine that if Hermione were present, she would give him a reproachful look and sigh.

"I apologize for my behavior when you first came in," Remus said quietly. "This is a wound that hurts us all. Please don't hesitate to come back and talk to me if you ever need to."

"Alright." Harry nodded.

"Because in truth, it helps me too." Remus managed a weak smile at his students. He didn't feel as hopeless as he did just moments ago, though he felt that once Harry and Ron left, he would slip back into a state of utter despair.

"I'm glad." Harry nodded. "Thanks for humoring us. We'll go now, but maybe you could fix up some tea for us another time?"

"Absolutely," Remus said in earnest. "Day or night."

Bidding their teacher a warm farewell, Harry and Ron took their exit. Waiting until the door shut behind them, Remus took a long drink from his mug and slumped back in his chair once again.

* * *

At 6:45, the ground floor lobby of the Ministry of Magic was a bustling mass of witches and wizards pouring out of every elevator, anxious to clock out and get home to their families. Amidst the myriad of colorful robes and knapsacks, Albus Dumbledore stood out from the crowd of tired and drooping wizards, standing at his full height and dressed in fine shimmering navy robes with pale silver detail in the form of countless moons, stars, and various astronomical objects. He wore his tall hat on top of his flowing gray hair, which was visible across the lobby as it towered above the rest of the crowd. He drew several glances and greetings as he swept alone in the opposite direction of the masses. While everyone else was rushing to leave the building, he was the only one swiftly heading in. 

Once Dumbledore had shaken himself free of the crowd, he stepped into the nearest lift. After the iron doors slid shut with a loud bang, he pressed the button for B2. He stood calmly as the lift rose shakily, passing six floors before stopping at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He deftly avoided several memos that flew into the elevator as the doors slid open, gracefully slipping past them as he stepped out into the hallway.

The corridor was long and brightly lit. A white marble floor stretched out for several yards until it formed a T. To the left was Auror Headquarters, and to the right, Wizengamot Administration Services. Dumbledore went in the direction of the former, arriving at the office of Amelia Bones. He rapped the door twice before entering. As he expected, both she and Cornelius Fudge were waiting for him.

Bones' office was as sensible and proper as she was; the white walls were paired with a clean beige carpet and deep plum curtains that framed the floor-to-ceiling window on the far side of the room. Tall iron sconce lamps lit the four corners of the room, creating a comfortable level of light. Amelia's heavy mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, while a soft-looking white couch sat on the right wall facing her, and various other plush white chairs created a sense that several people could gather here and talk comfortably. While Amelia Bones sat at her desk, Fudge was slouching in one of the plush ivory armchairs, his chin resting in his hand and his bowler cap placed in his lap.

"Albus, welcome." Bones half-stood from her chair to greet Dumbledore. "I was hoping you would be able to come."

"Of course, Amelia," Dumbledore bowed to her, then turned to Fudge. "Cornelius."

Fudge nodded at his greeting. "Albus."

"Have a seat, sir," Amelia gestured at the sofa. "I'd like to get straight to business, there's quite a bit to discuss—"

"Ah, would you mind perhaps calling for some refreshments?" Fudge cut in, raising his hand. "I wouldn't normally make such a request, but I have been quite busy all day and this is already past my dinner hour."

"Yes, yes…" Amelia muttered, quickly drawing out a quill and scrap of parchment. "Back to the point. Draco Malfoy was taken directly to Azkaban prison this evening after his arrest at Hogwarts. He has been placed in a solitary maximum security cell."

As she finished speaking, Bones placed the parchment to the side of her and tapped it three times with her wand. It instantly disappeared. Dumbledore waited until she was done to speak.

"When you say 'maximum security', Amelia, are we talking dementors?" he asked calmly.

"Of course," she replied dismissively. "Two are flanking the doors to his cell. I assure you the boy will be going nowhere until his trial and sentencing."

"I would like the dementors to be removed tomorrow." Dumbledore replied firmly.

"What?" Bones' brow furrowed. "But whatever for?"

"You should know very well by now my level of discomfort with the creatures," he replied. "As I am also disconcerted with the trend of inmates reaching a level of clinical insanity before their trial and sentencing."

"You know that I've always respected your wishes, Albus," she sighed. "I'll send an owl to them tonight ordering the Dementors to be removed."

"Thank you." Dumbledore replied graciously.

"We need to discuss how we will break this to the media," Amelia continued, folding her hands. "Obviously, the wizarding world cannot know what transpired today before Malfoy's arrest. It would create a panic in some and possible copycat attempts. Even most laywizards understand the inherent danger in tampering with time travel. The last thing we need is that damned Rita Skeeter resurfacing every old crow's tale about timeturners and convincing her readers that we'll all turn to newts by the end of the month."

"I couldn't agree _more_, Amelia!" Fudge exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter. "I am of the same mind; it would do no good for us to go blabbing about this to every man, woman, and child in Europe. In light of that, I took some precautionary measures that I strongly believe were overlooked."

"Please elaborate, Cornelius." Dumbledore said quietly, his blue eyes resting on Fudge.

"I had those two cronies of Malfoy's taken to Azkaban—now, now, before you react, Dumbleore, I tried to get in touch with you, but Minerva said you were occupied. They've been placed in very comfortable cells there and they _will _remain in them during the investigation into this incident until their trial and sentencing. The two were accessories to a very serious crime and in the interest of keeping this matter hushed, I insist that they not be given the chance to mingle with their fellow students and leak the details of tonight's events."

"I have to say, Headmaster, that I do agree with him," Amelia nodded, "What sort of message will we be sending by letting accomplices walk free after committing such heinous acts, especially in this day and age? People will think that they can get away by simply not being the person that casts the spell. No, I think that we should prosecute all three of these boys to the fullest extent of the law."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Perhaps you are right. I do not appreciate, however, action being taken behind my back and without my consent. It is within my power to have Crabbe and Goyle removed from prison in the best interests of their education. You see, Cornelius, I believe strongly that given the proper encouragement, young minds will more carefully consider which path they choose for their life. Treat them like criminals, and they will act like criminals."

"But Headmaster, they _are _criminals." Amelia said firmly.

"Then it is a failing on my part. This was not a situation that was unavoidable." Dumbledore shook his head.

"Well, never mind that now," Bones dismissed him, suddenly appearing a bit uncomfortable, "what we're concerning ourselves with is what to do until the trial. I have a team of aurors that are compiling evidence. The legal department is all over it. An Unspeakable at the Department of Mysteries has agreed to provide expert testimony on the matter. We'll have an airtight case within two weeks, I'd wager."

"Only you're missing the girl's testimony." Fudge said, looking bored.

"We won't need it. We've got Lupin, who witnessed the crime, we have the wand used to commit the crime, we have evidence that it was premeditated and carefully planned and evidence that it was properly executed. Granger's testimony would be nothing more than icing."

"We will wait until Hermione can or cannot speak at the trial before holding it," Dumbledore spoke up. "She is the victim of this crime and it is only fair that she will have her moment to speak at his trial. Airtight case or no, we will wait for her."

Dumbledore's statement was final – his tone brooked no room for disagreement. Bones and Fudge nodded silently.

"Very well, then." Bones cleared her throat. "Is there anything else left to discuss?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Amelia." Fudge stood rather quickly, smoothing his robes. "I'd best be off—"

He jumped as a sharp rap sounded on the door.

"Enter." Bones called shortly. A small house-elf scrambled in, holding a large silver platter of various sandwiches. She hurriedly placed the platter on an empty corner of Amelia's desk and curtseyed nervously. Casting her eyes around the room warily, she started when she saw Dumbledore and Fudge. She whimpered and quickly averted her eyes.

"These look delicious, thank you." Dumbledore smiled kindly as he chose a bologna and swiss on rye. With a nervous squeak, the house elf disapparated, leaving the three alone again. "Do sit, Cornelius – dinner has only just arrived."

With a low grumble, Fudge snatched a ham sandwich and collapsed back into his chair, scowling. "Alright Dumbledore, what else have you to discuss?"

"The Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore met Amelia Bones' eyes over his half-moon spectacles. After a tense moment, she nodded slowly.

"What about it? You said we already have expert testimony in the department for the trial, what's left to talk about?" Fudge demanded, taking a large bite out of his sandwich.

"What's left, Cornelius, is bringing Hermione back into her present safely," Dumbledore said firmly, "As concerned as you are with the legal ramifications of this event, I am more concerned with the safety and well-being of my students."

"But… that's preposterous!" Fudge shook his head, "if you're suggesting somehow 'teleporting' the girl back into the present. Time travel only goes one way, Albus. And for very good reasons – I'm sure I don't need to tell _you_ that! Of course I want this girl to be safe as well, but tampering with time could ultimately lead to a greater damage. Besides, our Unspeakables are already busy working on projects as it is!"

"I shall like to at least speak with them, Cornelius," Dumbledore leaned forward, "at least get their input. After all, they are more well versed in such matters than any of us, no?"

Fudge sighed heavily, "Fine. You'll probably just wind up doing it anyway, so what's the point? Are we done here?"

"Yes, I believe we are," Dumbledore rose and bowed to Amelia. "Rest assured, I shall keep in touch."

With that, he swept out of the room and into the nearest lift. He pressed the lowest button on the wall panel, sending the lift plummeting to the ninth floor. He checked his watch and smiled – 7:25. Right on time for his appointment.


	11. Fireside Chat

After sitting with the seventh-year Gryffindors a short while, Hermione grew anxious. Though it was exciting to sit next to the warm fire marveling at the fact that Lily Evans and James Potter were sitting across from her in the flesh, flanked by the fresh young faces of Sirius and Remus, Hermione could not stand to be idle when there was so much to do. As the group began chatting about Quidditch and professors she did not know, her mind wandered to the stacks of catalogs and newspapers Dumbledore had given her. Feigning a long yawn, she proclaimed her weariness and excused herself.

As Hermione ascended the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories, she breathed a long sigh of relief and realized that she had been trembling. Once out of sight of the common room, she leaned her body against the wall and closed her eyes, struggling to clear her mind. It was overwhelming, simply sitting with them. Fascinating, completely terrifying, and terribly thrilling. She had no idea how she should feel, talking to people who she knew full well would be murdered in less than two years. Who would be sent to waste a life in Azkaban. Who would betray every confidence. _But I can't change that, _Hermione reminded herself. What would come would come. James and Lily's death saved the world, and she knew they'd sacrifice themselves a thousand times over even if it just meant Harry's survival.

_This is the opportunity of a lifetime,_ she thought, wishing her guilt to ebb. These weren't just Harry's parents; they were historical figures who would be written about in every single magical history book until the end of time. This wasn't just any year she had been dropped into; it was nearly the height of Voldemort's reign. _We can use the mistakes made in this era to strengthen our defenses in the future._ She didn't know if this was a viable idea, but it was enough to calm her down and set her back on her way. Hermione ducked away to the last bedroom on the right at the end of the girls' hall, a room she could have easily found blindfolded and Confounded.

If she hadn't known better, Hermione wouldn't have guessed that another set of furniture had been moved in that afternoon. She felt right at home immediately; apart from the extra bed, wardrobe, and nightstand, the basic set-up of the room had not changed. Granted, the personal effects couldn't have been more different from Lavender and Parvati's pin-ups of Quidditch stars and fluffy pink and periwinkle trinkets. Walking around the room, she smiled at the bold splashes of color that defined Ella's area: sheer orange and pink gauze wove around the canopy of her bed; her desk was a chaotic jumble of neon quills, patterned folders, and open pots of multi-colored ink, while odd earrings lay scattered, missing their pairs. Next to her area, Katherine had chosen more sedate colors. Her small round alarm matched the deep navy of her wastebasket and neatly stacked indigo notebooks. Her quills were all put away in a tall cylindrical glass jar with inset beads that sparkled in scarlet and gold, an item that Hermione instinctively felt had been a gift from Ella. Across the room, Lily's space reflected simple elegance. Enchanted ivy had been charmed to snake up the legs of her desk, stopping just short of a few bright mosaic picture frames (between the shimmering teal grout and the myriad of colors, they also had Ella's unmistakable touch). One held a rather handsome portrait of James, who was doing his best to look serious despite his wild hair and unkempt clothes, while the other was a group portrait of the three girls, all smiling and laughing in the heart of Diagon Alley. Origami animals shifted back and forth near her quills; the giraffe bending its neck, the crane softly flapping its wings, while the stork periodically took short flights across the desk.

Once Hermione had gotten settled, she borrowed a quill off of Katherine's desk and went to work on ordering new supplies. It took her the better part of an hour to wade through page after page of potion ingredients, cauldron options, and uniform measurements. When she was done, she triple-checked her list, making sure she had enough to at least get her to the end of the year. The sum total of her purchases on the order form was astronomical, but it gave her a grim satisfaction to know that Malfoy would be footing the bill in due time. That being settled, Hermione felt far more at ease and decided that she should go back downstairs to get better acquainted with the group. Fear still gnawed at her stomach, telling her that this was still too new and risky_. But if Dumbledore encouraged me to be active, then he must know what's best, _she thought. Slipping her shoes back on, she opened the bedroom door and promptly stopped when she heard the hushed voices of the Marauders trickling into the hall from downstairs.

"I think she seems alright, but I'm a bit cautious, I'll admit," a female voice said. Hermione drew herself a few more steps down the hallway to hear better.

"I just don't think we can trust her yet, is all," she heard Katherine say, "Yeah, call me unfair, fine. If we trusted every person these days that comes up with no explanation and asks for the benefit of the doubt, we'd all be dead a long time ago. Personally, I think she's putting on an act. She has been all night. She keeps staring at us, have you noticed? No, not just looking, I mean… it's creepy. She seemed more interested in Lily than the castle. I mean, just think about that for a second, will you? Remember our first night here? It was all we could do to keep from exploring every nook and cranny of the place. She didn't ask one question about it."

"I think you could defend that same behaviour though, Kat." Remus said softly. "Let us not forget she's only been here mere hours. We don't know what might've happened to her family or her friends. She might be putting on the act to cover a wound."

The others quietly respected what Remus said, knowing he was speaking from his own experience. "Look, I'm sure she's just trying to fit in. Who wants to make a first impression by crying and blubbering everywhere?"

"Outside the portrait hole." Katherine spoke, despite James' open mouth. "She shifted to the right when Lily said the password. All the other doors here open to the left! She had no way of knowing that. Like I said, little things."

"I think you're just being paranoid, Kat." James said bluntly. "There's little, and then there's insignificant. You analyze her every move and you'll convince yourself she's Voldemort himself."

"I agree," Lily spoke. "I honestly think she's alone and frightened. I don't want any of us to make this transition harder on her than it already will be. That's the Slytherins' job."

"Dumbledore trusts her," Hermione's muscles tightened as she recognized Peter's voice. "I dunno. Seems like that should count for something."

"Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard who ever lived," Sirius said with a chuckle, "He sees a small girl like her and of course he's not going to think she's a threat. He trusts everyone."

"I don't think that's quite fair, Sirius," Ella murmured. "You-Know-Who has been so powerful for quite some time, and if Dumbledore made wrong decisions about people, then Hogwarts would have been infiltrated by now. We're the last stronghold."

"All the more reason to make sure that it stays that way," Katherine insisted. "This girl is only here for a couple of months, it's not like I'm voting to shun her for life. Besides. We've been a solid group for the past seven years and now right before we graduate, she just comes barging in. It's not fair, you know? We've already got so little time left together as it is, now we have to worry about what we say and how we act when we're together."

Upstairs, Hermione slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. While she had anticipated this reaction, a small part of her had hoped that they would understand her plight and agree to take her in. Hearing Sirius express his distrust stung. Hermione tried to remind herself that he didn't know her yet, and they had every right to be wary of her.

"I understand completely, Kat." Lily said gently. "But no one, including Hermione, chose this situation. It's just something we have to make the best of, right? Being friendly won't do harm to anyone, no matter what side Hermione might be on. Of course, I'm not voting to tell her all of our secrets, but for goodness sake, at least make her feel welcome here."

"I agree with Lily," James cleared his throat. "I'm just as wary as you are, Kat, but we've got to give her the benefit of the doubt. Let's also all remember that for whatever reason, Dumbledore put her in Gryffindor. That means a lot to me."

"And I as well," Remus cleared his throat, "If she had been a Slytherin at heart, then Dumbledore would have either put her with them, or, if he had wanted an eye kept on her, he would have put her in with the Ravenclaws."

"There's an idea, Remus," Katherine replied, "maybe he did put her here because he knows we'll be suspicious. You know, maybe he's testing us before we enter The Order to see if we can detect a traitor."

_If only you could sniff out the real traitor,_ Hermione thought miserably, resting her temple against the coarse stone of the wall.

"Oh come on, have better faith in the man than that," Remus scoffed. "Let's just say for the sake of argument that he did do something so twisted – I think it would be a bit more subtle than dropping a new person on us at the end of the school year."

"Alright, fine. Maybe Dumbledore's not behind this. But until we get some sort of hard proof that she's on our side, I don't trust her as far as I could throw her."

"Well, you know, Kat, as someone who knows rejection pretty damn well—"

"Oh, come off it," Katherine snapped, "this isn't even—"

"Stop!" Lily hissed, cutting them off. "Merlin! There's no reason to start getting personal here, we're all on the same team. Let's just be _civilized_?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile when Sirius cleared his throat and adopted a high, lofty voice: "Well, Mistress Evans, much of what fosters a growing sense of unease within me lies in the fact that we know very little about this little lady's upbringing."

Perhaps it was this break in the tension, coupled with the desperate desire to feel accepted that caused Hermione to ignore the quivering in her knees and get to her feet. As Sirius prattled on imitating high society, she shakily descended the stairs, stopping at the last step. The entire group had broken into chuckles at Sirius, so they didn't notice her take a step into the room and lean back against the wall.

"I mean really, who knows what sort of stock this Huh-myy-uh-nee came from," Sirius drawled, "to _think_, her parents could be muggles—"

"Ac-tually, they are," Hermione piped up, doing her best to project a lofty voice of her own while keeping it from wavering.

The reaction was immediate: Lily and Katherine gasped, Ella and Peter squeaked loudly, while the rest of the boys jumped in their seat. All of them craned to look at Hermione, who was doing her best not to look sheepish, a wry smile growing on her face.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry Herm," Sirius half-rose from his seat, "we were just kidding around, I mean, Lily's parents are muggles and Peter's dad—"

"No, I could tell that you were joking," Hermione waved her hand to dispel his guilt. "Mind if I sit down? I was having trouble sleeping."

"Yes, please," Lily scooted over on the couch and made room for Hermione, "It'll probably take a while to get used to sleeping in a big castle like this."

"Thanks," Hermione lowered herself onto the couch, folding her arms to make herself as small as possible. "It's sort of been a crazy day."

"Would you like to tell us about it? You don't have to, of course, but we'd be happy to listen," Lily smiled earnestly, while the rest of the group waited expectantly.

"Well, there's not much to say," Hermione replied as she fiddled with a silver band on her finger that her parents had given her several years ago, "Almost everything I know was ripped away from me quite recently, and then it was decided that I would attend classes here, so um, here I am." She cleared away a frog that had suddenly developed in her throat, shrugging her shoulders. "It's just… quite surreal."

"Was it, um, You-Know-Who?" Ella asked softly, leaning forward.

"Not quite, it was one of his followers. A bit of a personal attack," she added.

"So your family was openly opposed to Him?" Katherine asked, crossing her arms.

"Very much so. I mean, my parents are muggles, so they weren't very involved, but my friends and I would rather face death than kneel to Voldemort."

"You say his name," James smirked.

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione recited; she felt rather like a broken record after having repeated this adage for over five years now.

"Well said!" Sirius exclaimed, clapping his hands, "Spoken like a true Gryffindor."

A murmur of assent echoed from around the group. Hermione smiled meekly, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, the awkward pause was broken quickly.

"So Hermione, what are you planning to do after you graduate?" Remus asked, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and propping his chin up with his hand.

"I um, don't really know yet," she said, wringing her hands absentmindedly. "I had once thought about going into the ministry and work on promoting some changes, but right now the first priority is helping fight against the Death Eaters."

"Can you duel?" James asked, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly.

"Yes, I've had a bit of experience," Hermione answered, thinking back to Dumbledore's Army. For a brief moment she wished she could recount every time her and her friends had fought Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself.

"Good," Sirius smiled. "Perhaps you'd be up to practicing with us sometime? We're pretty busy with NEWT-level classes and Quidditch and all, but we figure there's no point in waiting until we're out of the safety of Hogwarts to improve our Defense skills."

"I absolutely agree," Hermione said earnestly, leaning forward. "I'd love to join you all, I could certainly use the practice."

"If you feel you're too rusty, feel free to knock some spells off of Peter," James laughed, ducking a poorly aimed throw pillow from Peter.

_Is that an invitation?_ Hermione stifled the thought with a small smile. As her eyes wandered over the couch, she noticed that Sirius had furrowed his brows, shaking his head discreetly at Katherine. Hazarding a glance to her right, she glimpsed an irritated toss of Katherine's head as she crossed her arms against her chest. It suddenly struck her that Sirius' invitation had not been the consensus of the group and was already causing some level of tension.

"Maybe I, um, shouldn't," Hermione stammered, her cheeks growing hot as she failed miserably at attempting to sound casual.

"What? What's wrong?" Lily asked, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

"I—I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled, staring into her lap.

"Sorry? What for?" James laughed in confusion.

"For barging in on your last months of school. I realize that it's not fair to you all."

"Yeah, but you can hardly help it, can you?" Peter shrugged and offered her a small smile.

"No. I can't," Hermione tensed, but immediately caught herself and loosened her shoulders. "It's just… this all feels wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't know how to explain it."

"Oh, nonsense," Lily smiled as she lightly shook Hermione's forearm, "This is the best place for you to be right now, hands down. It may not seem that way now, but you'll come around.

Hermione nodded, blinking away tears. "It'll just take time, I guess."

Lily beamed and gave her arm another small squeeze. "That's the spirit."

* * *

A/N: Ok, I promise to limit "time" puns, they won't be used to end _every _chapter : )

Sorry for the wait (at least it wasn't a year, right?), I'm making an effort to get these chapters written faster. My creativity goes right out the window when college life causes lack of sleep.

Final thing: I love love love reviews! Thanks to EVERYONE who has reviewed so far, and please do keep them coming. Tell me what you like, don't like, etc., but give me something to go on! If anything, they certainly inspire me to write faster.


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